


Thirty Years

by Aella_Antiope



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Angst, Hope, M/M, Romance, Tragedy, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aella_Antiope/pseuds/Aella_Antiope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a great battle, Wolfram falls and becomes Shin Makoku’s hero.  He doesn’t die.  This is the story of what happens after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was betaed by HARPG0 and as per usual all mistakes are mine.

~***~

 

The sounds of battle surrounded them, the screams...and he was still unsure of which way the tide would turn. Wolfram had to be with his men, as much as it pained him to leave Yuuri. Now, of all times, just when things had been going so well. It was such a bitter thought.

He moved his white mare closer to Yuuri and leaned across, grabbing his hand.

“I have to go down there, Yuuri.”

Yuuri turned to him, his eyes wide, frightened. “No, Wolf, I need you by my side.”

He wanted nothing more, but his men needed him, and he knew that no matter what, Yuuri would be safe up here. He looked over at Conrad and a wordless exchange of understanding passed between them: ‘protect him, take him away if necessary.’

“I have to, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gave him a look. It seemed like an eternity, but it was only moments. “Okay, Wolf, okay. But swear that you’ll come back. _Promise_ me.” Yuuri’s hand was still in his and it gripped him painfully.

He couldn’t promise anything, not really, but he could not deny Yuuri this.

“I promise that I’ll come back.” No matter what happened, he’d come back, hopefully in this life, but if not...

With a sound of misery, Yuuri leaned across and took him in a long, fierce kiss. In front of his brothers and Günter, for everyone to see, and despite what he had to do, despite it all, this was real. Yuuri had publically claimed him and his heart sang.

But it had to end and he pulled back. Wolfram gave Yuuri a long, sad look. And, with a flick of the reins, he went down to join the fight, determined not to look back.

~***~

 

Wolfram dreamt.

Long and endlessly, he was floating in colours which made no sense but were comforting. His awareness was muted. Vaguely, he knew he had to be somewhere, but, for now, it really didn’t matter. He was in no pain. Time, or the passing of it, meant nothing.

At one point, he found himself on a hill, the same dreamlike tranquillity still smothering his senses. He felt a presence behind and he turned, his awareness sharpening slowly, just a little. Looking at him with fondness was Shinou.

“Am I dead?”

“No, you’re just sleeping. You were injured badly. It will take some time for you to recover.”  
That was good. He’d be able to keep his promise. What that promise was, he wasn’t sure. It slid away from his mind when he tried to grasp it, like a dream, but he knew it was important and staying alive was part of that.

“That’s good.” Wolfram said, or thought. His voice sounding placid.

“Yes,” Shinou replied, in his head, for his lips weren’t moving.

“When you awake, things won’t be what you expected, or what you wanted. But, possibly, it will turn out just as well in the end, my pretty child.”

There was something odd in what Shinou said. But, before he could think more about it, he found himself drifting again, the scene changing back to that wordless, formless place “in-between” where time didn’t matter.

He drifted there for hours, or for hundreds of years...it didn’t matter. Then, he heard a voice. Someone was reading to him in this formless place. The voice was everything, the only thing. At first, it was comforting. It would come and go and he’d wonder, dimly, where it had gone before forgetting it until it came again. But, then, there was no forgetting. Where was that voice?

Suddenly, Wolfram had to know: where it was, how to get there, what that voice was because... It was familiar. The scene changed, and he fell back into his body, both familiar and strange, something had changed. But there was no pain, only tiredness, the feel of a soft bed beneath him, breath, gravity. And that voice. He couldn’t wake yet, but he would.

Wolfram slept.

He opened his eyes and shut them quickly as the brightness blinded him. But he opened them again. That voice, the touch of a hand in his, he had to know. Memories still eluded him, but this voice he had to see.

Sitting in a chair on his left was a man wearing glasses, thin with long black hair, the top part tied back, but with long strands falling down. He looked familiar, yet different....Murata, his memory supplied him with that name. He knew this man. Wolfram watched as Murata turned a page and continued reading, voice low and melodious, an ancient Shin Makoku tale, one he remembered from his childhood. Memories were still falling into his head slowly, one drop at a time.

Murata’s other hand was in his and he wanted to feel, to touch, and with great effort he moved his thumb and swept it across Murata’s hand.

Murata stopped suddenly and looked down at their joined hand with a frown and slowly looked up into Wolfram’s face. Murata’s eyes widened. Wolfram blinked, keeping his eyes steady, he couldn’t speak. There was something in his mouth.

“Hello, dearest Wolfram, welcome back.” Murata smiled at him.

He couldn’t remember much further. He slept. But, when he awoke, his mother was there, tears in her eyes.

“Wolfram, honey. Oh, Wolfy,” she spoke, choking on her tears. She placed her head on Wolfram’s chest and held him close. There was nothing in his mouth this time. “Mother,” he whispered, his voice sounding strange.

His mother got up, and cupped his face. “Oh, Wolfy. You’ve been sick for so long, but you’re better now. You’ll be up in no time.” Wolfram couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here. Did he get sick? And where was that voice, the man who was here...Murata.

“Murata?” he croaked out. His mother gave him a surprised look. “He’s not far...do you want me to get him?” He nodded.

He must have dozed for a bit for, when he woke, Murata was next to him, reading a book.

“Murata?” The Sage looked up at him. He’d changed. The Murata in his memory had been young, just shy of coming of age. This Murata was older, looking at least one hundred and thirty. He couldn’t tell how old that would be in human years. His black hair had grown out to fit his position.

“You’re looking a little better, Bielefeld,” Murata said with a smile. He looked good, Murata had grown up well. He never had been as cute as Yuuri had been, but Wolfram had noticed him. He was striking, even taking away his foreign complexion, and very attractive when he smiled. Yuuri…a face popped into his mind. He knew Yuuri, right? His tired mind tried to grapple with the question before he gave up and focused on the one thing he wanted to know.

“How long?” he croaked.

Murata’s face went solemn, “Almost thirty years. You were very ill.”

Wolfram’s brain went numb. It couldn’t be. Wouldn’t Murata look older? He was human. The image of Yuuri came into his head again, but he pushed that aside. One thing at a time.

“You look...it can’t be.” Wolfram said, his voice slow, still.

“My lifeline has been altered. Shinou tied it to Shibuya’s. The Demon King will always need the Great Sage.” Murata smiled, but there was an underlying sadness there.

Yuuri, _Yuuri...._

“Where is Yuuri?” He tried to get up, but he felt dizzy and he fell back with a groan. “Yuuri?” he cried out plaintively, a pain was in his chest. How could he have forgotten Yuuri?

“Don’t try to get up,” Murata said with gentleness. He touched his forehead softly, brushing aside hair. A sense memory of lips on his forehead came to him suddenly. “Shibuya is on his way. He was in Caloria with Lord Weller and von Christ. He won’t be back for another week. I’m certain he dropped everything when he got the pigeon courier and, as we speak, will be making haste back.”

“Lord von Voltaire will be on his way back in a day or so. He’d left to work at his estate. If you’d only woken up a day earlier... He’d only just gone, you see. I’m sure he’ll get the courier midway back.”

Murata placed his hand over his, and that cool gentle connection calmed him down.

“You should rest, you’ve still got a while to go before you’re up and about. For your body to heal.”

“I’ve been resting for thirty years.” Wolfram said bitterly but he could feel the familiar fatigue bearing down on him and it was easy to succumb. The last thought he had was that Murata had not moved his hand.

~***~

 _Year 4045, 25 Abren_

 _Dear Wolf._

 _I don’t know how to begin this...I guess I’ll start at the beginning. This was Conrad’s idea, to tell you all about things that are happening while you are unwell. I don’t know if I’ll ever give these to you, though, because the things I’ve been feeling. I don’t want you to know. You’ll need to focus on healing, on getting better. ~~So I don’t think you’llsee these~~_

 _It’s been almost six months since you died on that field outside the village of Abney. When we found you, it was horrible. You were covered in blood. I didn’t know there could be so much, but your eyes were closed and, other than the blood, you looked like you were just sleeping. They told me you were dead and I can’t even explain how bad I felt. I didn’t believe them. I couldn’t let you go, Wolf. So I didn’t. I was able to find the power to heal you, to bring you back, and you were whole._

 _But you didn’t wake up. Gisela tells me you are perfectly fine physically, only there might have been damage to your brain. Murata thinks it might be more to do with your soul, but he can’t tell me more than that. It’s just a theory. It’s never happened before. But I’m sure you will wake up and things will go back to normal. Greta misses you. She’ll be coming of age soon and everyone is caught up with the ball to present her. I had a dream that you woke in time...I hope that is true, Wolf. I miss you._

 _Ever since the battle, everything has changed. The Aristocrats listen to what I have to say and I know they are a little afraid of me, and even Gwendal treats me differently. The only people who see me the same are Greta, Conrad, and Murata. Sometimes, I’m not sure about Murata. At times he gives off that cool aura as if he’s assessing me, and it’s a test. It is strange. All the ambassadors have sent me assurance of their alliance. Wolfram, I killed so many people on that field and I see them in my dreams. I wish you were here to tell me what a wimp of a king I am. You know me better than anyone. But sometimes I wonder, as time goes by, if you would recognise me now?_

 _I miss you so much, Wolf. Please wake up. I need you. I love you._

 _Yuuri_   


~***~

 

Later, a day later though it was hard to keep track of time, Murata helped him when he was thirsty.  
“Just wait, I’ll pile the cushions behind you so it’s more comfortable.” In the end, Murata had to half help him up and hold him up as he gratefully sucked the water into his mouth with a straw.

When he was done, he lay back gratefully against the cushions, still feeling as weak as a newborn.

“How did I get ill?” he asked. Trying to get his head around the idea of thirty years.

“You don’t remember...?”Murata said and he shook his head.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

Wolfram shut his eyes. “Yuuri’s twentieth birthday.” Their first real kiss.

“That was a few months before,” Murata replied steadily. “You were injured in a battle. It was...terrible. A lot of our soldiers died but we prevailed in the end, thanks to Shibuya. I wasn’t there but I was told about it afterwards. You were found half-dead on the field and...Shibuya tried to heal you. He saved your life, but you were left in a coma.”

“For thirty years?”

Murata nodded. “Yes, both Gisela and myself worked to keep you comfortable, in a form of stasis. But letting it up now and again to allow your body to heal, to give you a chance to wake up.”

“It will take you a little while to recover, but not as much as it would have if you didn’t have Gisela’s skill.”

“Where is Gisela?” His eyes were drooping. He really wanted Yuuri...but Murata’s presence was also a comfort and, without thinking, he reached out for Murata’s hand. He let out a breath when Murata squeezed his gently and held it.

“She’s at the Wincott Estate...she got married to one of the Wincott cousins. She had her second child a few months ago.”

Wolfram had to wrap his head around everything, all these changes, but he was tired. Again, he slept.

~***~

 

“So what else has happened?” he asked, his head was propped up and the food he’d eaten before had helped a little.

“Well, as I said, Gisela got married. I’ve sent a messenger to her. She probably won’t be able to come straight away, but she will come in time. Your mother got remarried again, to Sir Raven.” Wolfram digested this information. “Remarried?”

“Your brothers are much the same, but Lord Weller, he married Yozak,” Murata smiled, genuine happiness. “Good,” Wolfram said, “Conrad deserves happiness, and I’m glad he eventually worked it out.”

“Yes, Yozak is very happy.” Wolfram remembered that Murata had been close to Yozak. He’d always suspected that they had been more than friends, but it seemed he was wrong.

“Greta, she joined the Diplomat’s corp before marrying a mazoku trader. They live in Francia. She has three children, two girls and a boy. The eldest, Wesley, is to be apprenticed to Lord Weller next year. I’ve also sent word to her. The storms will make it impassable for her to travel, but I’m sure she’ll be here next summer….it’s towards the end of winter now.”

Greta had grown up. She’d be…she’d be almost fifty now. That was almost half a lifetime for a human. He’d missed out on everything, her marriage, the birth of her children. Seeing his grandchildren.

So much time had gone by while he slept.

“My men?”

Murata shook his head. “Many of them perished.” Wolfram closed his eyes and took a long shuddering breath.

“Not all of them, though. Some survived and it was thanks to you that Sir Michael Wagner and Sir Franz Switzel survived... When you are better, they will be glad to see you. Sir Wagner named his first born after you.

Wolfram nodded and took a deep breath. “And Yuuri? Has he been well?” His voice broke at the end and he blinked his eyes.

A fleeting look went across Murata’s face, which Wolfram couldn’t identify “He’s been very well. He’s done so much as King, far more than I thought. He’s...grown into his role.”

“I always knew he would.”

“As for the rest, I’ll let Shibuya tell you about it. He missed you, Bielefeld, very much.”

Wolfram nodded, his throat closing up for a bit. When he could speak again he looked at Murata.

“And what about you? Do you have a wife or husband?”

Murata laughed a little.

“No, it’s been way too busy for that.”

“I’m sure it was the same for Conrad and Gisela.” Wolfram said.

“Yes, I guess that’s no excuse. I never found the right person.”

Wolfram nodded. He understood that feeling. He’d felt that way once.

~***~

 

Gwendal arrived at the castle in the early hours of the morning, while Wolfram was sleeping. He woke to his brother sitting next to him, looking out the window at the brightening sky.

“Brother?” He said, feeling lost, and Gwendal looked down at him, a strange look in his eyes, surprise and something that looked like hope.

“Wolfram...” Gwendal opened his mouth again as if to say something. Closed it and handed him a knitted animal from his lap. The knitted animal looked something like a horse.

Wolfram looked at it dumbly; its eyes looked back at him dolefully in a lopsided fashion.

“I knitted this for you...I knitted many of these for you.” Gwendal swallowed. “This one was the last and I think it turned out better. It’s a unicorn,” Gwendal said gruffly, his eyes blinking.

Gwendal looked tired. There were wrinkles on his forehead and one thick streak of grey on this temple. But he was still as big and solid as he ever remembered.

He felt his eye prickle.

“Brother...I...”

It had been a long time since he’d hugged his eldest brother, even longer since he’d even initiated one but Gwendal held him strongly when he reached for him, the mournful unicorn squished between them.

For a moment he thought he was trembling, but it was his brother and those rough low sobs weren’t his own.

“I’m glad you are here, brother.” Wolfram said tightly. He felt Gwendal nod and the grip on him tightened, it hurt only a little bit but Wolfram didn’t mind.

~***~

 

 _Year 4045, 6 Dago_

 _Dear Wolf_

 _I meant to write often. Every week, I would start a letter but it sounded stupid. I didn’t know what to say. You’re still asleep. Though, now, Murata calls it a coma. He’s more convinced that it has more to do with your soul than any damage to your body. I’m afraid either way. I worry always that I hurt you when I brought you back. ~~I never wanted to hurt you.~~ _

_You’ve been moved to your old rooms and Murata has brought some stuff back from Earth to make you more comfortable. As time goes by, there are things that are needed. Gisela has spoken about putting you in stasis until better methods can be found; she’s been talking to Anissina about this. Mazoku have never gotten sick like you have, not like humans do. And the humans usually died...it is hard for me to understand medicine in Shin Makoku, it is very different from Earth. But, in stasis, healing is much slower. Murata has explained it isn’t like being frozen; it just slows your body now, like frogs in winter. So, sometimes, you need to be out of it, because it would make it much longer for you to wake up._

 _I visit you every day, but I miss having you in my room. In your bedroom, I listen for your breathing and sometimes I sneak in next to you and hold you, ~~I would pretend that were sleeping normally and that you’d wake up in the morning. But I had to stop that after a while because it would hurt too much when you didn’t.~~ _

_Gwendal has disbanded those who remained in your squad. They have been absorbed into other units. Though, a few, like Michael, chose to go back to Bielefeld to serve your uncle. It’s only temporary. All of them will come back immediately when you are better. I know how much you love being a soldier._

 _I’m trying to be a better king. Günter is pleased at my studies and I’ve focused on learning history and diplomacy, reading about what other kings have done in the past and Murata has given me some books on Earth history too. I want peace and I’m determined that there wouldn’t be another battle like there was near Abney. I want those deaths to mean something...at least I can do that._

 _Your brothers are fine. Conrad has remained close and, without him I think I’d fall to pieces. He gets me going every morning and keeps me focused on the future. I know he visits you during the night. ~~.he hasn’t forgotten you, Wolf.~~ And Anissina told me that Gwendal has started knitting little animals for you. You’ll have an entire zoo when you’re better._

 _Greta’s coming of age was amazing. She looked so pretty and grown-up. Günter commissioned a painter to come take her portrait, so you’ll see what I mean. She missed you. ~~I~~ We missed you._

 _Greta has taken up diplomacy and she is doing some special studies with Günter and Murata that will take at least two years. I know she wants to get a posting somewhere afterwards, perhaps Caloria because it is safe. ~~I don’t want her to go, Wolf. She’s the only family I have left here and it scares me to think she’ll move on in life, I remember when she was a little girl.~~_

 ~~  
_I can’t believe I’m being so pathetic, I’m only 21 years old..._   
~~

_I miss you. I miss you a lot. I think of you every day._

 _With love, Yuuri_

~***~

A couple of days later Wolfram’s life ended, or so it seemed. He was still waiting impatiently for the new healer and his muscle strengthening healing. Once more, he found himself staring outside the window. Murata had been there a few minutes before, but had been called away to an emergency meeting with Gwendal.

It was frustrating. Things were happening in the castle, as busy as he had remembered before and he couldn’t contribute. He could scarcely walk to the privy without someone helping him. Though that was better progress from using a bedpan. Humiliating to think that for all those years he’d been fed and cleaned like an infant.

“Hello,” a small voice said.

Wolfram turned his head and found himself looking at a little boy, about six years old with dark hair and dark purple eyes, standing at the door uncertainly. The boy gave him a shy smile.

“I’m Wolfram. Who are you?”

Thinking that one of the servant’s children had made their way up here, his wing was quite isolated, which fed Wolfram’s irritation.

The boy looked a little uncertain and then answered shyly. “I’m Riki.” And after a pause added. “Papa said you are incredibly brave and beautiful. You have very pretty green eyes. They are just like Mama described them, better than the painting.” The boy added thoughtfully. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, very much so,” Wolfram said slowly, he didn’t know who this child was. A horrible presentiment went through Wolfram, that dark hair, and such dark eyes.

“Who is your father?”

The boy looked at him as if he was slow, a vaguely familiar look, as if from someone he knew.

“He’s the king. I better get back before my sister and nanny look for me, but I’m glad you are better.”

“Richard!” An older lady called from down the hall and the boy rolled his eyes and gave him a little wave before running off in that direction.

Wolfram found himself clutching the blanket to his chest. He fingers were numb.

 

~***~

 

“Yuuri is married and has children,” he gave Murata an accusing look.

Murata paused, he had been in the process of pulling some books back into his battered leather document holder. He gave Wolfram a look he couldn’t read.

“I heard little Riki had come up here. He’s heard so much about you growing up...he wanted to see you. Everyone is talking about your recovery.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it best that Shibuya tell you.”

“He’s my fiancé!” He raged.

There was an awkward moment of silence, the room charged with his anger and unhappiness as Murata adjusted his glasses and sat down on the chair next to his bed.

“Who did he marry?”

“Lady Elizabeth,” Murata responded without hesitation.

“How?” he asked, Elizabeth had been his childhood friend, the one who had loved him.

“She came to the castle after your mother married Sir Raven, that was just before sixty-five, and she wanted to tend to you. We all played our part with that. She missed you, too.”

Wolfram really didn’t care.

“Don’t tell me, they comforted each other...”

They probably came to their feelings in this room as they tended to him. Maybe they kissed while he was here, slumbering away. He suddenly felt ill and he gestured to Murata as he held the bed pan up as he threw up his last meal. Murata held his hair back.

It was embarrassing, but not as humiliating as finding out about Yuuri’s unfaithfulness. Murata poured him some water and he gulped it down, anything to take the horrendous taste of the regurgitated breakfast from his mouth and he rinsed his mouth out into a bowl that Murata had provided.

Another wave of tiredness hit him and Wolfram found he had little energy to cry. Though he wanted to.

“He waited for you, Wolfram. For twenty years, he waited. Against all the advice, we were....we weren’t certain you would wake up. I...advised a little before then to let you go, to move onto the next life, but he never gave up on you. For a long time he had the most faith that you would get better, most people did not.” Murata looked away, not willing to look him in the eye.

 

~***~

 

The next day Murata was ‘babysitting’ him again, as Gwendal left to attend to some work. It was just past midnight and Wolfram was heartily sick of the room and wasn’t able to sleep.

“I don’t need a minder,” he told Murata with a bitter tone. “I can be left alone for a little while.”

Murata shrugged, “I don’t think Lord von Voltaire will allow that until you’re on your feet again.”

Wolfram sighed. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want Murata around with everything changing, the grey in Gwendal’s hair, the news about Greta, Yuuri’s children... Amongst others Murata had stayed familiar. As far as he could see, the Great Sage had not changed much, apart from growing a little more pleasing, and he certainly had not treated him any differently...other than the uncharacteristic use of his name when he awoke, but, under the circumstances, that seemed understandable.

“I have papers here. I’ll sit in the corner and work on those.” Murata sat himself in the chair with a side table next to the bed, up near the corner as he said.

“Is that what you did before...when I was asleep,” he started to ask but broke off with the clatter outside.

The door opened and that was the only warning he had before Yuuri was in the room and he had only a second to take him in. He’d grown taller, a bit broader, and he was in his riding gear. But the face...the face was the same when Yuuri leapt halfway onto the bed and engulfed him in a fierce hug.

“Yuuri…” Wolfram choked out, and he buried his head in those shoulders. The news about the marriage and the children went away for a moment. To have Yuuri in his arms, with him, it felt like home.

It was, he thought afterwards, the scent of horse and riding leather which probably triggered the last of his memories. Of that day on the battlefield. As he was held tightly and the kiss Yuuri had given him, and the promise he had extracted from him.

With a muffled sob he pushed Yuuri away from him. A pain had started in his chest and it burned so badly.

“Let me go!”

“Wolf...what?”

“I came back...I kept my promise,” he said looking at his once-fiancé.

The look Yuuri gave him was hurt...which transformed to guilt as Yuuri realised what Wolfram had meant, he had _not_ forgotten.

“I came back. But you didn’t wait for me. YOU _DIDN’T_ WAIT FOR ME.” He screamed out his anguish. At that moment the ache in his chest exploded into fury, and shame, and even more pain.

“Wolf...” Yuuri put his hand out.

“Don’t TOUCH ME! You’ve lost that right...don’t. Just leave!” Wolfram demanded. The tears were now falling down his face. But he’d lost everything. What did he need of dignity?

“Wolfram,” Yuuri said, looking absolutely miserable. But that just made it worse.

“LEAVE!” he screamed, banging his arm down on the bed, and Yuuri nodded once and started to walk out the door.

Yuuri paused at the threshold, head turned down, his voice coming to him, low and torn, twisted with grief.

“I’m sorry, Wolfram. I...I’m so sorry.”

 _Good_ , Wolfram thought viciously.

 _If you feel even half as bad as I do now, then good._

Then the door was wide open, empty, and he took in a few burning breaths. He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder lightly.

It was Murata. Wolfram had forgotten about him. He’d been in the corner the entire time, trapped in the corner with Yuuri on the bed like that. Wolfram doubted that Yuuri had even seen him there.

“I’ll give you some time alone.”

“Now, I get some privacy,” he said bitterly though his tears. Murata turned to go and he grabbed onto the back of his jacket desperately. He couldn’t ask...he just couldn’t, but he needed it anyway.

Murata sat down on the bed next to him and pulled him into his arms and Wolfram howled out his grief. He’d lost Yuuri, Greta had grown up without him, his entire family gone, everything he’d built his future around had turned to dust. And Murata held him as he let all that grief out.

As the sobs turned to irregular hiccups, Murata rubbed his back slowly and stayed until he’d exhausted himself.

Murata never once said a word to defend Yuuri that day, or any empty platitude and Wolfram was thankful.

Much later, he found out that Conrad had been just outside the door, as Murata would tell it. Wolfram imagined that his brother would have been torn between going after Yuuri, or staying to comfort him. He never knew what Conrad had made of him sobbing his tears out onto Murata and not turning to family. But he learned later, long time “later,” when he could feel for Yuuri and see both of them as equal victims of this misfortune, Yuuri had had someone to comfort him too.

Wolfram was glad for that. But in a small, selfish part of his heart, he had been even happier that his brother had hesitated, had thought of him first.

~***~

 _Year 4046, 22 Fabuen_

 _Dear Wolf_

 _Today, you were awarded the Maou’s Cross. It was something that Gwendal started working towards soon after the battle but it needed the vote of at least seven major nobles and my approval. Both Gwendal and Günter had been doing a lot of work to gain them. I was told a month ago. You probably know more about it than me, but it’s because of your service and sacrifice for the king._

 _It was presented to your uncle because he’s the closest member of your house.. ~~.if we’d been married, Wolf, that would have been me. I was such an idiot to wait so long...~~_

 _The medal will stay with the castle, though, for when you wake. Wolfram, I never wanted you to have it. Though I can’t say that to anyone because it means so much to your bothers. I really wanted to say “no.” ~~I look at it and want to smash it.~~ It means so little compared to having you awake and by my side. I never wanted you to sacrifice anything for me, Wolf. I’m not worth it. But I made it through the day without hurting anyone’s feelings. That night, I got drunk and Conrad had to carry me to bed and I cried ~~. for you and made a mess over conrad’s jacket.~~ It’s embarrassing, but Conrad has never said a word about it._

 _The next day, your uncle requested that you be sent back to Bielefeld and cared for there. It was fortunate for him that I was suffering from alcohol poisoning because I’m afraid I might have ~~killed him~~ done some violence if I was there. But Murata took him aside and convinced him that you’d be better here, under the king’s care. ... ~~Great, now I’m talking about myself in the third person...~~_

 _I miss you, Wolf. I love you ~~...please wa~~_

 _Yuuri._

~***~

 

Recovery was very slow, frustrating, and boring.

Wolfram’s body didn’t do what he wanted it to do. Three weeks after Yuuri had returned, Wolfram was able to walk around the suite unaided. Wilhelm had been assigned to help him with his physical recovery. Wilhelm could easily be described as a mild mannered mazoku healer with an iron resolve, who pushed Wolfram relentlessly. Mazoku healed fast, but this was still incredibly slow, at least Wolfram thought so. He gave Murata a look of scorn when the Sage had told him that he was lucky he wasn’t human. “Your physical rehabilitation would be ten times slower, mazoku truly have amazing restorative power.”

Wolfram bitterly wondered where that had gone for the last thirty years.

Only when he was able to walk down the hallway unassisted, although it did take a month, did Gwendal allow him some “alone time.” He still had frequent visitors – Gwendal, his mother, Conrad...Günter had come by for a stilted conversation. Apparently, there were many who wanted to see him but Gwendal had put his foot down. He was in recovery and anyone other than his family and Wilhelm were not allowed. Apparently, Günter was _considered_ family.

He hadn’t seen Yuuri for days and, for now, that’s how he wanted it. The king was not welcome in his rooms and he was sure the news would have spread.

Murata also came by, and he was, apart from Gwendal...and Conrad a welcome distraction. Murata brought news from the outside world that either his brothers did not notice, or did not want to bother him with.

“I want to go outside” he told Murata two weeks later. This level had no balconies and he was too weak to manage the stairs...yet. The weather was warming up and he could feel the spring in the air. It would still be cool...but it would be nice to see the sky.

Murata had tilted his head, the way Wolfram had noticed he did when he was thinking. ‘I’ll work on that. I think there might be a way. If you’re willing to let go of your dignity for a bit.”

~***~

Murata had organised one of the courtyards on the west side to be cordoned off and one guard was left in the only entrance to prevent anyone from encroaching on his privacy. He didn’t think he remembered this courtyard from before. It was small, barely big enough for two benches, with a low hedge and a small evergreen.

Losing his dignity meant that Yozak would have to carry him down and keep him company. Gwendal still wouldn’t let him be alone for very long...and Murata seemed happy to comply.

It wasn’t the outdoors, not really the outdoors. But he could see the blue sky and feel the wind on his cheeks. Wolfram was starting to feel grateful even for those small things.

It would have been a nice day to take Blume for a ride. Sorrow engulfed him when he realised that Blume would be long gone. He wondered if his mare survived the battle. He’d hoped so. He’d like to think she’d had a long life.

Just another little bit of sadness. Another thing he’d lost and wouldn’t get back.

Yozak had gone for a moment and he jumped when he appeared from behind.

“Do you have to do that?” He snapped, clutching his chest – there was a twinge of pain there that he’d gotten, something that had come and gone since he’d been allowed out of the bed.

“I have to get in some sneaking now that I’m out of the field,” Yozak said. He pulled his thumb in the direction of the entrance. “Two maids were gossiping down that way. I had to ears drop. I may have given up field work but I don’t want to get rusty. You never know when it would come in handy.”

This was news for Wolfram.

“You’ve retired?”

“Courtesy of marriage to your brother. I’m a minor noble now. The king gave me some land near Adison valley in the South.” Yozak sat casually in the bench next to him.

Wolfram mulled that information over. “Isn’t that mostly swamp?”

“Mostly, but it’s a noble that Lady Cecilie wanted her son married to. So, it’s good enough for me.”

It was funny considering who Conrad’s father was, with no mazoku blood nor a single title. Maybe that was why his mother didn’t want Conrad to marry another wanderer. He wondered how Yozak could stand it after working out of the capital most of his life. Though, Yozak looked happy enough.

“Do you miss it?” Wolfram had to ask.

“Always,” Yozak answered without a pause. “But, I’d miss Conrad more. It’s not so bad. I live vicariously through my students and staff. And there is always plenty of drama in the castle to keep track of. I still do a lot of work.”

Wolfram nodded. He expected nothing would have changed in that regard. He was curious to see how Elizabeth and Raven’s new positions would have changed the political landscape. Wolfram was sure he’d learn soon enough.

There was the sound of laughter from one of the windows above, and a scolding from one of the maid’s from a window two floors up and Wolfram frowned. The sound of children; probably some of the servant’s bairns. There were plenty of them about. Yuuri’s suite was on the other side of the castle. Still, he felt his mood darken.

“You’ve grown up to be a loyal and brave man, not to mention quite a beauty.”

He turned to berate Yozak, expecting to see a look of mischievous mockery. But Yozak was looking him over in an appreciative fashion but not familiar enough to make Wolfram uncomfortable.

“The king did not want to hurt you,” Yozak said matter-of-factly, correctly reading the changed atmosphere.

 _Not that it made a damn bit of difference_ , Wolfram thought bitterly but he kept his voice steady when he spoke.

“The king can do whatever he pleases. He had good cause.” Wolfram looked down at this hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes,” Yozak agreed with equanimity. “It wasn’t a popular decision at the time. If that makes you feel any better.”

Yozak placed his arms behind his head, tilted upwards to enjoy the sunshine.

It did. A little bit. Though, it wasn’t a fair feeling to have. He also wasn’t sure if he could quite believe it. He was sure that the people would have loved Elizabeth. She had suitable pedigree and was beautiful. But it wasn’t what Wolfram wanted to hear.

“Tell me about what happened? At the battle and after.” He asked.

He knew that out of everyone, Yozak would be the most honest. The man could be painfully blunt and he needed that.

“You still can’t remember?” Yozak sounded surprised.

“Only bits and pieces. I cannot remember the end and it’s doubtful I ever will. And, of course, I don’t remember what happened after.” He added dryly.

“I wasn’t there at the time, having been stuck half way across the kingdom on a mission to prevent the war,’ Yozak made a funny half-laugh. “Yet, I heard enough from Conrad. The battle was turning against the king and apparently that’s when you decided to go down and rally your squad. They had been held in reserve until then at the king’s orders.”

Wolfram could remember that vaguely and nodded. Yozak continued.

“Conrad said that the king had forbidden you to leave, but you managed to convince him. I don’t think anyone knows what happened afterwards. Your squad engaged the enemy and Wagner said he lost sight of you. It was battle. Chaos. Bloody bedlam.”

Yozak shrugged, his eyes going remote.

“It was then that the king merged with the Maou and took out half the enemy and burnt them to cinders. Yet, he was able to keep Shin Makoku’s men unscathed in the middle of the conflagration. It was very...efficient. I’ve often wondered why he didn’t do it earlier. But it’s not something we talk about much,” Yozak concluded, studying his nails.

 _We meaning Conrad_ , Wolfram guessed.

“He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt anyone,” Wolfram said, trying not to think about all those he’d lost in his squad and how those could have been saved. It wasn’t in Yuuri’s nature to kill. Obviously, the Maou had come to the fore when things became desperate. Yuuri had tried everything possible to avoid the battle in the first place. Those days beforehand were frantic with diplomatic messages and meetings.

Yozak sighed and then continued. “The rest of the enemy lost heart and scattered and the king was wise enough to let them go. I think it was that which has earned us peace for all these years, the story of that battle has reached far and wide, getting taller at the telling. Not that it needed much more exaggeration. Nobody wants to tangle with Shin Makoku’s King.”

 _Yuuri would have hated that_

“Then, he found me injured and healed me,” Wolfram said quietly.

“Is that what you were told?” Yozak asked and Wolfram nodded. “No, kid. You were quite dead. You took a sword through the heart and I can tell you nobody lives long enough to be injured after that. Somehow, the king brought you back – practically used up all his life’s spirit in doing so. Almost killed him. The king was out cold for two weeks and, for a while, we thought we’d lose him. Conrad was beside himself. It was a difficult time.” Yozak eyes grew sad in memory.

“I was dead.” Wolfram looked at Yozak incredulously. “How could he possibly have brought me back?”

Yozak shrugged and put his hand out upwards. “Only Shinou knows. But Conrad saw it; he saw your body and your injuries and Murata confirmed it later with his sight.”

 _You were found half-dead afterwards and...Shibuya tried to heal you. He saved your life, but you were left in a coma._   



He wondered why Murata didn’t tell him.

“I remember when they brought you back, both you and the king on pallets. Then the king recovered.”

“And I didn’t.”

“No,” Yozak agreed sadly.

“There was nothing much more to tell that you wouldn’t already know. Conrad finally proposed to me and we married.” Yozak smiled. “Lady Cecilie married Lord Raven about twenty years after you were struck down....and, eventually, the king married Princess Elizabeth and the children came.” Yozak stretched his legs out. “You were missed by your family. Very much. Conrad missed you. When he was here he visited you daily, as did your mother. I don’t know about Lord von Voltaire, he keeps very much to himself but he smiled even less. He was quick to agree to all the care that Murata suggested.”

“Murata put a lot of effort into my care.”

“Both he and Gisela, yes. I thought Murata and Gisela would have been the next to wed. They were very close for a time.”

Wolfram wondered why Yozak was telling him this; a friend should not break confidence on such matters.

“I never knew what happened between them,” Yozak said. Gisela moved on and married Lord von Wincott’s eldest nephew. Murata can be stubbornly private. A bit like Conrad. Like a lake, placid on the surface but underneath there is a lot happening,” Yozak said in a conversational tone. “It’s a shame though. To see friends being left behind.”

Yozak gave him a small smile and then proceeded to tell him about all the political gossip over the last thirty years. There was a lot to take in.

~***~

 _Year 4056, 12 Namu_

 _Dear Wolf_

 _Remember when I told you, just after Conrad married Yozak, about how I thought Murata might have romantic feelings for Gisela? Well, it didn’t turn out that way. She got engaged to Deen Wincott. Who was here for two seasons to study some strategy with Gwendal’s first officer._

 _Murata didn’t say anything. In fact, around that time, he spent two weeks at the temple and didn’t come to any of the meetings. He didn’t even come see you, Wolf, and he always does. He spends most of his work time at a desk next to your bed. I thought he might have been upset about Gisela._

 _I was worried...we aren’t as close as we used to be. Murata has always been a tricky person to know, anyway – and, since the battle, he’s become more distant. I think I frightened him a little. He wasn’t there but he went to the battlefield afterwards and he was told, of course. Since then, he’s always been a bit more watchful. I don’t mind, Wolf. I’m afraid of myself, too, and I know Murata would keep me from hurting others._

 _ ~~Sometimse, Wolf, I get so angry at the way thing are and that you’re still not there. I’m so angry I want to destroy~~  
I was going to ask Yozak to visit him, to see if he was alright. Yozak is Murata’s closest friend, as you know, though they don’t spend as much time together now that Yozak is married. But, in the end, I didn’t need to. He came back to the castle and, after the first meeting, he asked to speak to me. His aura had changed. I’m slow at working those things out normally, but I had been paying attention this time._

 _He told me that his lifeline had been altered, that Shinou had tied his to mine. It made me feel strange to hear that. He told me not to get any peculiar ideas when I started to freak out. All it meant was that his life would be as long as mine would be. Which means, Wolf, when I die, so does he...then I was really freaked out – I told Murata that and he laughed liked crazy, like what I’d said was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. His laughter had a frantic edge and I was really worried about him. I was afraid he was having some type of nervous collapse._

 _And then he stopped and he got really still, not like he normally does. You know when he’s busy with strategy or he’s coming up with some weird idea. Remember what he was like with that Big Shimaron ambassador at Karbelnikoff estate, just before the first attack? It was nothing like that. It was like all the energy had left him and he looked so drained. He put his head in his hands and I rubbed his back. Normally, I don’t touch Murata. He’s not the touchy-feely type. But I knew he was upset and I wanted to console him somehow._

 _It was then that I realised about being a half-mazoku. I’d live for at least another three hundred years. I’d never thought about that seriously before, Wolf. I can imagine you giving me that look, the one you get when I say something incredibly stupid, but I never did. The thought that my mother and father would die even before I got to middle-age, and Murata too. And, now, Murata was going to have to share my life. I asked him why and he said simply, “The King needs the Great Sage.”_

 _No wonder he found it funny when I was freaking out about being responsible for his life. Even if I die young, there is a good chance he’ll live longer than he normally would have anyway._

 _That wasn’t something he was happy about, Wolf. Not at all._

 _He’s tired. And he hasn’t anyone really to confide in...well, not anyone who can talk to him back. Not even Yozak, not really. He talks to you, Wolf. If you could hear, I’m sure you’d know more than anyone else about him. I’ve heard him talk just before I walk into the door. Sometimes, I’m tempted to listen from outside, but I won’t._

 _What a strange week this has been, Wolf. I haven’t told anyone, not even Conrad or Yozak, but Murata didn’t say it was a secret, and I’m sure people will start working it out when he stops aging like a human. What I won’t tell him, because I know it’s so insensitive, is that even though it is freaky, it makes me happy._

 _I don’t trust myself, Wolf. Not since the battle, and I need someone strong enough to stop me if I let myself go like I did before. ~~I wish that had been you.~~_

 _And, Wolf, I don’t want to see Murata die._

 _Love Yuuri_

 

~***~

In the third room of his suite was a wall length mirror, one he’d used when he was younger for dressing. He’d purposefully avoided it while shuffling around when nobody was about. But, on this, he was resolved. Before he did his mid-afternoon exercises where he’d been too tired to do anything afterwards.

He had managed to get into some pants and an old cotton overshirt.

Wolfram regarded the stranger in the mirror.

He had grown, almost a head taller.

The second thing that he noticed was his green eyes. They were still the same, but striking on his pale face. His face was thinner, his cheeks higher. He...looked like his mother and possibly even more feminine then Günter. He snorted, everyone had always called him “pretty.” He’d hoped that he’d grow taller and wide like his brothers, more manly...maybe he would have if he’d hadn’t spent the last thirty years on his back.

That was not to be. Although, now that he looked at his fine collarbones and his thinly-built wrists, perhaps it would not have mattered either way.

He had no muscle tone left. He looked down at his sword arm sadly. It would take a while to get back his old fitness, perhaps years. And he’d have to relearn his centre of gravity. His body was no longer familiar to him. At least, he thought with a little bit of happiness, he curled his hand and a small fireball appeared, _at least_ he still had the connection with his element. He looked once more at the mirror.

His hair had grown out a little, curling around his shoulders, but pretty much the same. He was...now one hundred and sixteen years old, but he still looked barely past one hundred. Thanks to Gisela’s stasis skill.

Wolfram slowly made his way back to his bed.

All in all, it put him in a dark mood. After his daily exercises, he lay on the bed unmoving for the rest of the afternoon until Murata came by for a game of halma.

“So, why didn’t you give me mercy’s release?” He asked Murata point blank, enjoying a little the startled expression on the Great Sage’s face.

His suspicions were right. Murata had told him that he’d advised Yuuri for that action earlier on – and, if anyone would have done it, it would have been Murata. He couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t followed through. It was his natural fate, after all.

 _No, kid, you were quite dead. You took a sword through the heart and I can tell you nobody lives long enough to be injured after that._   



“I was going to,” Murata admitted after a pause.

“Almost twenty years had gone by and you still hadn’t given any indication of waking up. Shibuya was still full of grief, and guilt, not able to move on. I thought it would bring closure. I would have straight away if I knew you were in pain, or your soul was trapped. But your soul was just...resting and I could see no damage. But still, you could have easily lingered for the rest of your life. I know you wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Murata sat down on the chair, looking out at the window to the blue sky outside.

“When Shibuya was called away, I had it planned. I’d ease your passage while you slept. It would be hard, everyone would grieve, but...that would have been best, even for you. _Especially_ for you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I had a dream. Shinou came to me, and he hadn’t...not for a long time,” Murata swallowed. “He told me that you would wake eventually. There was no reason for Shinou to give out false hope. Though, part of me thought it was _just_ a dream, and so I assisted Gisela in keeping you comfortable. And waited for the time you’d wake.”

“You never told Yuuri?”

“No,” Murata said slowly. ‘”I...thought it would be cruel. He needed to live his life and not wait for something, some indefinite time. And, I couldn’t be certain it was Shinou or just a wishful dream. I understand if you hate me.”

Wolfram didn’t hate Murata. But he wasn’t able to say it. His feelings were still raw and confused.

~***~

Three weeks passed. Wilhelm extended his exercises and after managing the stairs with only the aide of a walking stick he was able to join everyday life at the castle. He was shadowed by both his brothers those first few days, much to his irritation.

Now, he was well enough to attend dinner, the first time he had wanted to get there early, before Yuuri arrived...and Elizabeth. But it took longer than he thought, with Conrad beside him, being painfully patient. “You can go ahead, you know!” He said, but Conrad only gave him a smile and kept pace.

The castle was not the easiest place to navigate with a walking stick.

By the time he entered the room, exhausted but refusing to show it, everyone was there. He noted, gratefully, that Elizabeth wasn’t. As soon as Yuuri stood, everyone else did. All eyes were on him, there was Gwendal with Anissina and Günter, Raven, his mother and Yozak. The last gave him pause, of course, married to Conrad and a noble that now gave him right to dine with the king.

“Wolfy,” his mother called excitedly. Raven next to him looked faintly embarrassed and Wolfram ignored her. In only a month, Raven would go back to Stoffel and his mother would go on a trip. Raven had appalling taste; between his mother and his doltish uncle...he didn’t want to think of that, his mother had always held with more outdated customary romantic arrangements. Wolfram focused on the king instead, in black.

“Wolfram,” Yuuri said.

And Wolfram lowered his head slightly. “Your Majesty,”

There was another pause and Wolfram raised his eyes. He’d expected that Yuuri would have a look of puppy dog forlornness which would embarrass everyone, but he was taken aback by a blank vaguely pleasant look on the king’s face. His Majesty nodded and sat down and everyone followed.

There was another pain in his chest, and a prickle in his eyes. Conrad led him over to the far side of the dining table, further down from where he used to sit next to Yuuri. Conrad was on his right side and Yozak on the other and they kept the conversation going as Wolfram mechanically ate the food placed before him.

He noticed that the Great Sage’s chair was empty, placed opposite the King at the large oval table.

“His Eminence rarely comes to dinner at the castle,” Yozak said, noticing the direction of the gaze.

Wolfram shrugged, as if it was of no importance. “What of...Princess Elizabeth.” He asked, pleased his voice remained level.

“She usually spends dinner with the children,” Conrad answered.

Of course, the children wouldn’t be old enough for these dinners for a number of years.

He managed to get through the dinner. And Yuuri barely looked to him at all. Wolfram kept having to remind himself how pleased he was about that.

~***~

Thus began an unhappy couple of weeks returning to castle life.

Wolfram had no squad to lead anymore, so he was free to go to all the meetings. Both Gwendal and Conrad encouraged him with this. In some ways, things were just the same as he remembered. In others, things were completely different.

Yuuri was different, much more reserved and he listened more.

Raven attended some of the meetings, but it was obvious, even from the little Wolfram knew, that Gwendal had put effort into reducing any power his mother’s husband now had on the king. Looking at Yuuri, Wolfram didn’t think that was necessary. The Demon King was no fool. Wolfram found himself feeling conflicting feelings, proud of how mature Yuuri appeared, but missing that open minded naivety when he was boy. The ghost of the past was still there for Wolfram and it was hard sometimes, to accept who Yuuri was now.

Yozak told him of all the meetings that involved Princess Elizabeth. She had recently started a women only military squad to encourage young mazoku ladies in service. Even Anissina had joined. Wolfram thought that was what the shrine maidens were for, but Murata had said it was good for women to be able to contribute and still have the option of marriage. Grudgingly, Wolfram saw the value in that. He had rarely paid much attention to the purview of women.

In the meetings Murata attended, he said very little, even less than Wolfram remembered from before, sitting in the back near the window. Wolfram would admire his long, thick hair which was braided, glossy black over one shoulder, reflective in the sun as the Great Sage often watched the sky outside and his head supported by one hand, deceptively not attentive to the proceedings. The things Murata did say, when he broke his silence, were insightful, cutting to the heart of the matter and, sometimes, guiding Yuuri in a different direction. Once upon a time, Wolfram had found it annoying and manipulative. Now, he was a little in awe of Murata’s intellect and ability to see past thorny issues. When Murata spoke, everyone paid attention.

Wolfram was impressed.

He missed Murata’s constant company now. Before the battle, he’d shared his bed with Yuuri. Then, after he woke up, while he was bedridden, Murata seemed to be always there, reading a book, even in the early hours of the morning when Wolfram would wake up suddenly, his sleeping patterns disturbed. Now he slept alone, with nobody around, in his bed or to keep a vigil by his bedside.

He supposed he had to get used it.

Apart from dinner, which he now only attended sporadically and the meetings, he avoided Yuuri. Sometimes, he’d imagine the king gazing at him sadly from the corner of his eyes, but he was sure it was his own wishful imagination.

He also made sure to turn up later for most of the meetings. It wasn’t that important he was there early. He contributed little anyway – and he didn’t want to spend any time alone with the king.

Wolfram...really had nothing to do with himself, besides the exercises and the visits of his family and Murata. His recovery had reached a plateau and, after a few weeks of quick progress, it was frustrating. He was able to get around the castle well enough if he didn’t rush and avoided the circle of never-ending stairwells. Otherwise, he got winded easily and the pain in his chest would return. Until he got better, he’d never be able to wield a sword. It was Wilhelm and Murata’s opinion that it would take a little time for him to get to that point, though they couldn’t tell him exactly when. It was different for everyone. Though, he didn’t see how that would work, nobody else had spent thirty years in a coma, as far as he knew, at least not mazoku. ‘Perhaps a year, maybe more.’ Only time would tell.

And he got tired so easily. Wolfram wasn’t good at inactivity and found his temper fraying, lashing out at servants and at his brothers. Sometimes, he got angry with Murata. Though, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying, as Murata had a great ability to ignore his sulks and tantrums when he came around to visit him.

“You should speak to His Majesty, sometime. He misses you,” Conrad said one day, his voice mild, devoid of any disapproval that he was convinced his brother was hiding.

Wolfram didn’t even bother to reply, continuing to read the letter that had arrived from Greta the day before, the one he’d already read a million times. He had started to formulate a reply when Conrad found him, his quill and pen still on the first line. It didn’t matter that he’d been thinking about this for an hour. He was sure he’d have started doing something if his brother had not turned up at that exact time. He was in ‘his’ courtyard, the place he went to hide from the masses, enjoying the weather which had warmed up considerably. Only Conrad and Murata dared disturb him there, and, occasionally, Yozak.

Anything he could say would only lead to Conrad looking at him in that sad, sympathetic way, as if he knew better. Conrad would get that look, anyway, but it would be degrees worse if he told his brother what he really thought.

Yuuri shouldn’t miss him. He had his own family, now.

“Riki has been looking forward to seeing you, too. He asks after you a lot.” Conrad added after a long silence. Wolfram had seen a few times from the north’s wing’s balcony Conrad playing mock wooden sword fights with the boy, bringing back to Wolfram childhood memories. It was obvious that Conrad loved the boy, almost like his own. Which was fitting, the king’s children required absolute loyalty. He could see how Conrad took the boy’s wishes seriously.

Yet, Wolfram hummed noncommittally. He wasn’t ready for this. The memory of Yuuri’s betrayal and the apology still a sore point. He...wasn’t ready and he certainly didn’t want to meet Yuuri’s family, or to pretend to be polite. It wouldn’t be fair to his children.

“Wolfram-”

“I think I should leave the castle,” Wolfram said abruptly cutting Conrad short.

It had been a formless thought for the last week, as he’d gotten unhappier as the days went by, frustrated by his body’s failing and his lack of purpose at the castle.

Conrad was obviously taken aback and said nothing for a moment.

“Wolfram...where would you go?”

Wolfram hadn’t thought that far ahead. Of course, he had no idea. Only now had it become real. But he wasn’t going to let his brother know that. He just knew that he had to leave. Staying here was no longer an option.

“I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

Thankfully Conrad didn’t push further.

~***~

The problem was, there were few places Wolfram could go.

He knew that his uncle would not welcome him. He was no longer heir now that Waltorana had children. By going back, he’d be seen as trying to contest and if he pressed he had good cause. But he didn’t want to be head of the Bielefeld House. He just wanted to get away from the castle for a while and he wasn’t strong enough to go out into the field, not for a long time.

“I would like to spend time at the temple. To rest.”

He told this to Gwendal as he was in his office, working quietly with Günter as he usually did just before lunch, all the weekly strategy and advisory meetings were in the afternoon at the king’s request. He supposed Yuuri spent time with his family in the morning.

His older brother looked at him and frowned. “As a man you would not be accepted for longer than a short visit. Only the Great Sage is allowed.”

“Well, there must be some way, some precedent,” he said. He turned to Günter.

“Well...there are...if you are willing to be castrated and renounce all ties to the world.” Günter said, and both he and Gwendal blanched.

Wolfram wasn’t that desperate to escape.

“But that is if you wanted to stay permanently, it doesn’t happen often. And no man ever stays at the temple for a short period. It’s simply not permitted.” Günter voice sounded scandalised at the very thought. “The only other way is if you got engaged and married to the Great Sage. Obviously, the Shrine Maidens are off limits.” Günter laughed at this, obviously thinking it a funny joke.

Wolfram paused, and Gwendal frowned at him, catching onto his thought processes. “I wouldn’t...” Gwendal broke off as Murata entered the room.

If it had been at any other time, time for Wolfram to think things through, then events would have played out differently. But Wolfram wasn’t thinking and...he was just as surprised as everyone else when he struck the Great Sage across the cheek.

He was even more surprised when Murata had smiled and took him in an embrace and whispered against his ear. “I accept.”

~***~

 _Year 4064, 12 Onwyn_

 _Dear Wolf_

 _Your mother is getting married. To Lord Raven, remember how I mentioned a few months ago about him coming to visit? Yozak told me he had a fight with Stoffel and decided to visit. Yeah, I’m not that surprised, either. Your Uncle Stoffel protested a little and rode all the way to the castle to object once he heard about the engagement and so did Gwendal, but Stoffel...quieted down after he spoke to Raven._

 _Murata made some mention of an agreement where Raven would spend some time between the provinces. Apparently, he would continue to support Stoffel as well as spend time with your mother at the castle. Gwendal also didn’t like that, and I think it made Conrad a little uncomfortable. I don’t think he much likes Raven. I kept silent. Your mother looked happy so I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Perhaps, that will work better for Lady Cecilie-- having someone who isn’t there all the time, less time for her to get bored and she can still have her trips. I know you’d be upset too, Wolf, but I think your mother is really happy, and I think you’d come to accept it eventually._

 _Elizabeth has also come to stay, to keep Raven company. But I think it’s an excuse to get away from the country. She’s very outgoing, so I don’t blame her, and she does well at court. She’s come to visit a few times before, a few years ago, to see you. Now, she spends a lot of time keeping you company ~~, but she’s sad afterwards.~~ _

_I really like spending time with her. She’s fun to be around and has a weird sense of humour. And, after Greta left, it’s good to have someone to talk to. In some ways, she reminds me of you._

 _I’ve learnt so much about your childhood. I wish you could hear some of the stories, Wolf. Though, I could imagine you getting all uptight ~~; you’ve always been a bit sensitive.~~_

 _You were really ill for a few months there, pneumonia which Wilhelm had never seen. Murata was familiar with it from a time he was a doctor in France in a previous life. (That’s a country in Europe back on Earth.) One day, I’ll show you it. Murata told me it was common for humans who were in your condition. They needed to put you into stasis for about half a year to heal you. I don’t like it when you’re in stasis, Wolf. It’s like you’re a statue. Your breathing is always a comfort and...I don’t often come and see you as often when you’re so still. I explained this to Conrad and he nodded. I think he understands. I hope you do. ~~I hope you will.~~_

 _ ~~Murata wants to give you mercy’s release.~~ I wasn’t going to say this. But...Murata came to me after you got pneumonia. He never said it out loud but he was talking about euthanasia on Earth, about laws there and about the practice in Shin Makoku of mercy’s release. That is what euthanasia is, Wolf, for those in pain who will never get any better. He’s usually more subtle ~~sneaky~~ about these things, Wolf, so I know what he was hinting at. But you aren’t in pain. Wilhelm assured me of this, and so did Murata and he has no reason to lie. So it’s different._

  
 _I pretended as if I didn’t understand. But I know Murata. He keeps at things, so I spoke to Conrad. Conrad said...that perhaps it was time to consider that option, to consider what you would have wanted. He spoke about how you’d feel about being so ill, after you’d had such an active life. He said it might be easier to have closure, to honour your memory. I asked him if he’d spoken to Gwendal about that, and Conrad got quiet, like he does when he knows there is disagreement. Gwendal wouldn’t let you go; he’s never given up hope. And I can’t, either._   


_You promised me, Wolf. You promised you’d come back and you’re the strongest person I know. You won’t let this defeat you. But I’m worried now about what Murata might do. I don’t want to order him away from you, because he does care and...he .is the best person to heal you. So, I asked Conrad to keep an eye on him. I trust Conrad. No matter what his feelings may be, he’s always been loyal._

 _You’ll come back. I know you will. ~~I refuse to believe otherwise, i can’t give up.~~_

 _Love Yuuri._


	2. Chapter 2

~***~

When he had time to think about it, Wolfram realised that Murata’s acceptance of his proposal was compassion, a hand held out in friendship. Murata knew how stifled Wolfram felt in the castle, how unhappy he was to see Yuuri every day. It was no hardship for Murata to allow him to share a bed in the temple.

He sensed that Murata was just as lonely as he was. In various ways, both of them would benefit from the arrangement. And, in return, he fully intended to offer his body, to give, and to receive some type of comfort.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Gwendal had asked while the maids packed up his clothes. He had only a few suits which his mother had made up for him. He couldn’t fit into his old clothes even if they weren’t hopelessly out of fashion. Sadly, lacy cravats were no longer in style.

“Murata is an honourable man. He is a suitable match,” Wolfram had replied. Furthermore, Murata had also accepted of his own free will.

“Is it fair to commit yourself to a marriage because you need some time away? You could stay at my estate.”

Wolfram frowned. He had thought about asking that as a last resort. Though, he really didn’t want to go far from the capital. But then Murata had walked in, and he’d acted on impulse. It would be reasonable to take it back, but he thought about the way that Murata had looked--so pleased at his proposal. He also thought about how he’d enjoyed Murata’s company. He was of age and status-wise there could be no better...after the king.

He said that out loud. “I was engaged to the king, was I not? Why should I have to take second-best after that?” The Great Sage was equal.

Gwendal looked perturbed by Wolfram’s response. He instantly regretted phrasing it that way, to his eldest brother of all people. But why not? Everyone would only assume that was the truth. His mother had married for love three times and look how well that had turned out. He’d fallen in love with Yuuri...and that engagement had been no less of a disaster. This was better. It would give him a purpose even if it meant only being the Great Sage’s bed warmer for the next year or so; no-one need to feel sorry for him anymore. There was no dishonour in a political match. It had worked well enough for Uncle Waltorana. It worked well enough for most of the aristocrats.

More importantly, when he got better, he knew Murata would not object to him going back into military service. Murata knew what he wanted more than most people. It would not hurt to have the Great Sage as a sponsor in his ambitions. In the end, this was an arrangement that would give mutual benefit.

~***~

Yet, as pragmatic as Wolfram had felt in front of his eldest brother, he didn’t feel it as keenly as he washed his body in Murata’s private baths the first night at the temple.

Wolfram felt a little frightened. He’d never been traditional like his mother or many of the aristocracy, and had been aloof when it came to physical affection. He’d never gone beyond a certain point before and the intimacies he had previous to Yuuri had been basic. In many ways, he wasn’t experienced. It made for a pathetic existence. He was over one hundred years old, technically. Only those not interested remained virgins for so long. It was getting quite embarrassing. He knew he wasn’t asexual, having a contract with fire and he still dreamt about Yuuri and enjoyed the feel of his hands on his own body. In fact, in growing...and he had grown all over… He looked down at his naked body in embarrassment. His flesh already interested in the direction of his thoughts. He might have to take care of that before he finished because he didn’t want to look too enthusiastic.

At any rate, it was all normal for male mazoku sexual development, but it was something that Wolfram was still getting accustomed to since he’d gotten better. He didn’t realise that things would become...well, more _urgent_ as he got older. He’d had urges before. But never like this. It was quite confusing.

Despite that, the thought of sharing that intimacy with Murata was quite agreeable. Yet, he was terribly nervous, too--scared even. He’d never do this in any other circumstance. Maybe, it was an avant-garde concept, but he preferred a formal agreement before allowing anyone such liberties.

Later, his body clean, bathed in scented oils, he waited for Murata in his bed naked. The temple was cold and he focused his will, increasing the temperature in the bed linen so it would be warm for Murata.

He dozed for a while and when Murata arrived – looking tired—it took a little while for him to become aware of Wolfram’s presence. He watched as Murata removed his robe and put his nightgown on. It was too dark to see much. Murata’s hair was down. He had clearly bathed just before.

Murata stilled when he noticed him.

The ritual words came to Wolfram, the right ones for engagement to someone of higher status. He’d tried to use these words with Yuuri, but, back then, much to his shame and...secret relief… Yuuri had run away before they could be said. He’d been so young himself and hardly knew Yuuri at all at the time.

The traditions were out of practice amongst the lower nobility but Wolfram was a Bielefeld, former prince, and he was now engaged to the Great Sage. His pride could not let them go.

He pulled back the covers, revealing his nakedness and lowered his eyes. He could feel himself getting aroused, which was embarrassing but at least Murata would be sure of his sincerity.

“Your Eminence, take my body as a symbol of my love and my respect under this trial of commitment. I am content to please you, under free will, in any way you would have me.”

And unlike Yuuri, he knew Murata would know the custom. He waited, still keeping his eyes lowered and he heard Murata sigh and say under his breath, “I’m not a saint.” Wolfram had no idea what that meant. Another random Earth term, maybe? So, he waited until the mattress dipped. Murata lifted his chin and he looked up into dark eyes, his glasses removed and in a plain white nightgown, black hair spilling down over his shoulder.

He waited for the words “It would please me to accept the pleasure you give.” But, instead, Murata said, ghosting one finger down his cheek softly, “It would please me to _give you_ pleasure. If you would have it, Wolfram. If you would have me?”

It was a question – and Wolfram shivered under the intensity of Murata’s gaze down across his body and up again to his face and a thrill went up his spine, a blissful sense of expectation. Murata continued to trace his thumb down his jaw line, downwards across his throat and he found himself shifting his head to give Murata more access. Eager for the touch, it was like his body had been parched and the slight touches were small sprinkles of water and he wanted... _needed_ more.

“Wolfram?” Murata asked again, his voice raspy.

“Yes... it would please me... oh _yes_ ,” Wolfram said and he whimpered as Murata traced his fingers lower and then shifted under the warm covers with him, moaning in a way he’d sure to be embarrassed about if...he didn’t feel so desperate and hot. Wolfram lay on his back and Murata’s other hand smoothed his hand up Wolfram’s inner thigh.

Murata was gentle and, true to his word, considerate to his pleasure first and foremost. Wolfram had a feeling that Murata had guessed his innocence. Or, maybe he knew. For, very little about his life when he was engaged to Yuuri had remained private. At any rate, he didn’t have much time to feel nervous. He didn’t even feel any discomfort, like he expected. Murata kept his mind on other things, on more desperately, brilliantly, toe-curlingly, wonderful things. And, before he knew it, they were joined and there was no time for anything other than heat and want and a desperate, sweet desire.

Having sex with Murata was _more_ than agreeable. It was far ahead of agreeable, he thought afterwards, stunned as he gazed up at the bed’s canopy dreamily. Murata gentled his body in the aftermath, one arm around him as he gave him whisper soft butterfly kisses across his cheek and then his neck, his body still feeling delightful echoes from before. He turned into Murata’s arms, enjoying the feel of his long hair against his skin and his warm body.

Wolfram never once thought of Yuuri.

~***~

  
_Year 4065, 17 Abren_

 _Dear Wolfram_

 _  
~~I don’t know what to say~~   
_

~~  
_I can’t_   
~~

~~  
_You were right, I am a cheater._   
~~

_I’m sorry, Wolf. Elizabeth proposed to me and I accepted. ~~I don’t want~~ I never wanted to hurt you, Wolf. Ever. This is why I haven’t written to you in months, I’ve become closer to Liz. ~~I wish things cou~~_

 _When she slapped me, I didn’t immediately accept. I came up to talk to you first. You were well that time. Which was a relief. Murata was reading to you, and when he saw my face, he let me have some privacy. I spoke to you, Wolf. I told you I was a cheater, and that if you knew what was good for you, you would wake up and yell at me, or shoot flames. I wanted nothing more than to see your green eyes. Wolfram, sometimes I forget what they looked like. That hurts more than anything. I see your mother and I think that is what they used to look like. I know the paintings never did you justice. ~~I want to see them again.~~_

 _But you didn’t wake up. If you were listening, if you were aware then I know you would have, your pride would have you do no less._

 _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t be sorry enough, Wolf._

 _I love Liz. I do and she’s....awake and she laughs and she smiles and she listens to me and she talks to me._

 _I’m sorry, Wolf. You can’t be there for me, and it’s not your fault. I know it’s not your fault. I know that if you could, you would be here. I know you can’t and it’s not your fault. You don’t deserve this. You deserve a better person, a stronger person. But I can’t wait any longer._

 _ ~~I cant.~~ I just...can’t. And when you wake, you can yell at me all you want, as long as you’re awake and whole, you can even hit me. I’m crying here, Wolf. I cried when I told you. I couldn’t stop. I miss you so much ~~and...I don’t think you’re coming back.~~_

 _I’m so sorry._

 _I’ll never stop loving you. I’m sorry._

 _Yuuri_

 

~***~

 

The temple healer, Adalia, took over his physical therapy, which now involved carrying weights around the temple grounds. She noticed once when he winced, that annoying sharp pain in his chest.

“Do you feel discomfort?” She asked. She was a much older mazoku than Wilhelm, her eyes keen.

“Sometimes...” He really didn’t want his physical therapy to slow down. He was making a little progress now, _finally_.

“What does it feel like?”

“A bit of a twinge, nothing major.” The pain was only fleeting after all.

“Hmmmmm,” Adalia said. “It could be a stretched muscle. We might slow down some of the upper body activity for a while.”

Wolfram nodded, relieved she hadn’t cut down things further.

Other than that, the only thing Wolfram had to do was read. On his own, he had started to sort Murata’s documents, mostly out of boredom. Though, at times, some of them were also interesting. But he could only do the work for so long and shortly at that.

It was only mid-afternoon and Murata was at the castle and he had the whole afternoon to while away, and as usual, on the balcony watching the shrine maidens do their exercises.

He had been here less than two weeks.

He didn’t think it could get worse than being at the castle....well, at least he wasn’t going to run into Yuuri or Elizabeth.

He was testy that night. Sulking, his knees drawn up on the couch rereading the same page over and over and refusing to make any conversation with his fiancé. Murata wasn’t thrilled and didn’t indulge him for long, going off to do his own thing in the archives. He’d started to recognise some of Murata’s moods especially the ones where he was annoyed.

He knew he was acting badly. He knew it was immature, but knowing it didn’t stop him from acting out. There was no love-making that night. Though, he’d woken in the pre-dawn hours with Murata’s arm around him protectively. So, he guessed he was forgiven somewhat.

That morning, as Wolfram was getting changed, Murata grabbed his hand. There was still half an hour before his therapy with Adalia and Murata had to leave for his first appointment at the castle. “I want to show you something.”

He allowed Murata to lead him down the hall, down a flight of steps and then up another and down another hall curving around. He had a feeling this was on the other side of the temple. He’d have to pay attention on his way back else he’d get lost.

He passed by a few maidens who bowed respectfully. He was still getting used to being surrounded by women. They were nothing like the ladies at court. There was no flirting and they were far busier – and...to his embarrassment, he’d found out that being a shrine maiden didn’t necessarily mean being chaste.

He wasn’t sure if that was strictly within the rules but Murata wasn’t bothered by it. On the second day, when he was showing Wolfram about, they’d come across two of the younger members...having a private tryst in a room. Wolfram’s jaw had dropped and Murata had quietly closed the door on them. Though, he doubted they would have noticed even if a dragon attacked the temple so wrapped up they were in each other. “Ummm....” Wolfram had said.

Murata had given him a small smile and they continued down the hall, as if this was an everyday occurrence. He never did ask Murata about it. There were some things he just didn’t want to know. But, from now on, he wasn’t going to go barging into rooms at the temple.

Murata opened a door at the end of the hall. Well, this shouldn’t be too hard to forget. It opened to a large, high vaulted room, painted all in white, newish paint. There were two large arched windows flooding the room in brightness, though one was half covered by vines.

“Will have to do something about that,” Murata murmured.

What got Wolfram’s attention were the items stored there. Along one wall leaned racks of paintings. Next to the door was a large work desk with parchment and drawings. And in the middle of the room was a large canvas on an easel, a stool next to it. The lighting was perfect. Or as perfect as it could be considering the vines.

“This is my studio...or was,” Murata said.

Two things Wolfram noticed: First, the room was stuffy, the air stale and there was a fine film of dust on the desk, the floor, and even on the canvas. Second, the room didn’t smell like a painter’s studio. Wolfram had been in many and had his own at one point. There should be the distinct smell of the paint, derived from animal droppings which would linger for years, decades even. This wasn’t the case here.

“This…was your studio?” Wolfram asked. Murata still held his hand and he let go gently, walking in to study the painting that was on the easel. It was almost complete. Compelling, it was a painting of a valley, green but wild like the ones in the parks set aside for the dragons. On one half was a cliff overlooking the valley, the sky grey with a roiling storm in the distance. Looking closer, appreciating the fine strokes and colours, he spied a small figure on the cliff, robes flying back in the wind. The figure was too tiny so there was no way to see who it was. But it seemed forlorn against the storm, insignificant amongst the landscape. Lonely.

“I never got around to finishing that,” Murata said in his ear, so caught up in the painting he had forgotten Murata’s presence. Without thought, he turned and gave Murata a kiss on the cheek. He froze a little, not sure if he was overstepping his bounds. This wasn’t the bedroom. But Murata had only smiled and, in return, kissed him lightly on the tip of one earlobe. Wolfram shivered a little in pleasure.

“I didn’t know you painted,” Wolfram said, a little flustered.

“I don’t...I did a couple of decades ago. It was a hobby I had in a previous life and I thought it would be fun to try it this time around.”

“You stopped,” Wolfram asked walking over and looking at the ink sketches on the desk, portraits of people he knew, Conrad, one of Greta all gangly legs around when she was thirteen...and one of himself. He was smiling in that one, apparently looking out of the picture at something, or someone. Looking happier than he ever remembered being.

“I got bored with it,” Murata said, but the way he said it seemed flat and Wolfram looked at his face, but there was little he could read from Murata’s calm expression.

“You’re very good,” Wolfram said, looking back at the painting on the easel and the ones he could see stacked against the wall. Most of them were landscapes, but there were a couple of portraits of people he didn’t recognise.

“I’ve had a lot of practice. But I don’t use this room anymore. So, I thought.... You’re welcome to use it. I know you liked to paint before.”

Wolfram found his hands itching. It would be good to paint again. “I’m not very good at it.”

Nobody liked his paintings.

“As long as it makes you happy, that shouldn’t matter,” Murata said. “And I like your style.”

Wolfram gave Murata a faint disbelieving look and then walked over again to the easel and looked down at the equipment next to it. There were different coloured...containers. He assumed they were the pigments, but the smells were different.

“Those are paints from Earth. It’s easier on the nose. I have plenty more if you want it. The brand doesn’t age well, but I kept a spell on them in the closet in the sitting room.” Murata walked around the room as he spoke, his faintly accented voice echoing and his polished black boots heavy on the wood floors. He paused in front of the windows. “You should keep these open. The fumes aren’t good in enclosed spaces. I’ll get that moved...,” Murata turned and gently tapped the canvas. “The vines should be able to be removed by lunch tomorrow. Hilda is good with heights and then you’re free to paint. That is...if you want to?” Murata looked at him. He paused next to the large easel, giving Wolfram a hopeful look.

“I think I’d like that. I’ve been a little bored.” Wolfram said ruefully.

“I had noticed,” Murata said dryly and gave him a small flirty smile, pushing his glasses up. Wolfram admired the Sage’s tall black clad figure, thick dark hair in a tight long braid, collar high and looking immaculate, so cool and calm.

 _I know what you look like naked, your lips swollen with kisses and your hair down and dishevelled, spread on white sheets._ Wolfram thought giddily. _And nobody else gets to see that, only me. Just me._

“Thank you.”

~***~

The next couple of months, Wolfram settled into a routine. Usually, he was asleep just after dusk so he woke up early, most times before the sun had risen over the mountains behind the temple. This had never been the case thirty years ago. If he wasn’t in the field, he’d wake hours afterwards.

Things had changed.

Yet, he had to admit, he enjoyed the early morning quiet. The Shrine Maiden guard hadn’t started their exercises yet and the early morning prayers could not be heard in the room. So, the room was peaceful, Murata sprawled out next to him.

Sometimes, he’d sit there for while, thinking of nothing in particular, absently stroking Murata’s hair. Most times, he’d gently remove Murata’s arm and put slippers and a robe on. Then, he’d go down to the sage’s private baths and soak for half an hour before returning to bed. By that time, the sun had just come over the mountains and the shrill screams of the shrine drill mistress had started. Murata would sleepily welcome him back with gentle kisses and fondling that would end in lovemaking. By the time they rolled out of bed, Murata for his own morning ablutions and Wolfram to clean himself off, it would be time for Murata’s work. Sometimes, there would be an hour or so for Murata to go over some briefing papers, sometimes discussing ideas with Wolfram.

Then, in a flurry, usually late, he’d be off to take the carriage to the castle, escorted by the royal guards. Murata had an aversion to horse riding. Wolfram would go down for his gruelling therapy with Adalia. Next was a quick bath and nap. And at times, if he felt particularly energetic, he’d go down to talk to the horses. Adalia thought he would be fine for riding in another month or so for short trips. And, always, he’d end up in the studio just after midsun, taking advantage of the clear light for a few hours. The painting he was working on was sharp dark lines, angry reds and forbidding greys.

Nobody disturbed him there, not even Murata.

In the afternoon, he would bathe again. He had always been particular about cleanliness. He’d settle down in the sitting room, bare feet, either reading or going over Murata’s notes. He was curious about the latest happenings. If business did not keep Murata at the castle overnight...sometimes it did, (more often than Wolfram liked), then his fiancé would return just after dusk. There was dinner and afterwards Wolfram retired to bed. Murata would stay up late working and Wolfram would wake briefly as Murata crawled into bed near midnight or after, with apologetic kisses, before settling next to him for slumber.

Wolfram was still a little bored and frustrated at his tiredness and lack of strength. But, in other ways, he was content, and after the misery in the castle he appreciated it.

So, it was one of those ordinary days just before going to the studio that he got his first visitor.

~***~

Elizabeth had not changed at all. Even for a mazoku, she was considered stunning, her long blonde hair flowing, artful spirals framing her delicate face, big, clear purple eyes and flawless skin with a pretty gold diadem with a purple diamond centrepiece sitting under her fringe. The diamond matched her eyes. She was wearing a dark navy uniform, a similar style to what the female healers wore in the regular army.

The only hint of her status was a plain black choker. In comparison, Wolfram felt a little shabby, in his simple green jerkin over a plain, long white doublet with form fitting breeches and hose. He’d barely had time to comb his hair.

As a woman, and the Princess Consort at that, Elizabeth need not have any invitation to the temple. She could come and go as she pleased.

She looked around curiously at the sage’s- at _their_ sitting room. Murata’s style was eclectic, favouring comfort over fashion, or aesthetics. Most of the pieces of furniture were older items from the castle basement. Wolfram had not felt any shame about that...until now.

“Perhaps, we should have tea out on the balcony,” Wolfram suggested politely.

Elizabeth turned to him and smiled attractively. “That would be lovely.”

It was a strained affair, at least for Wolfram. Elizabeth held up most of the conversation. About the latest doings of her family, her children, and the squad she had started. Yuuri wasn’t mentioned, at all. Not at first.

Wolfram decided to bring it out into the open.

“Why are you here, Elizabeth?”

She stopped, the cup mid-way to her lips. Then, slowly, she lowered it. “I’m here to see you, brother.” Wolfram gritted his teeth at their childhood nicknames... “And...I wanted to ask if you could come back to the castle, to visit. I know this is your home now, but...” Elizabeth stopped. Her confidence from before gone.

“Did Conrad and your husband put you up to this?”

Elizabeth flashed him angry eyes, the purple darkening. “No. I’m nobody’s messenger. But Yuuri does miss you.”

Anger- hot anger and fury.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you stole Yuuri, _sister_.”

Elizabeth paled...then abruptly stood up, the steel balcony chair screeching backwards and Wolfram flinched.

“You....” She started, her face going red. Elizabeth turned abruptly away from him, grabbing the balustrade. He could see that she was shaking. The hot fury from before was lifting and he was starting to feel...ashamed when Elizabeth whirled on him, hair swirling theatrically.

“ _You_...selfish, self-centred, spoilt _brat_ ,” she spat out. “I didn’t _steal_ Yuuri. We aren’t children anymore. This isn’t about who gets the pony, Wolf. I didn’t... “ Elizabeth took another breath. “I’ve only ever wanted to be a soldier, just like you. Ever wondered why we grew apart? While you were running across the country, serving the king, captain of your own squad I was _stuck_ at my family estate playing sword practice with my father’s pompous captain and...doing _embroidery_ in the drawing room.”

“But you’re hopeless at embroidery,” Wolfram said...that was really supposed to be his inside voice.

Eyes flashing dangerously Wolfram could feel the temperatures rise and the tea on the table started to boil. She didn’t bother to address what he said. “ _So_ , then when my father decided I should marry, _seriously_ this time. I decided to come to the capital. I came to join the Shrine Maidens. At least here, I could do some service. I’m no healer. There was no way I was going to get into the regular army and there was no way I was going to marry some dull noble and play dress-ups.”

Elizabeth pushed her hair back irritably. “But Uncle Raven asked me to stay with him for a time, and...I wanted to pay my respects to you...Wolf. Then...I met Yuuri...and.... Believe me, I had no intent of things going further, and I certainly would have gone screaming from the castle straight to the temple if I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“What you were getting yourself into…?” Wolfram repeated.

There were tears in Elizabeth’s eyes, but she was still fired up. “No...that’s _not_ true. I would have done it again, for him. But Wolf, I was _constantly_ compared to you.” Elizabeth pointed at him. “The hero, the king’s first love.” She laughed bitterly. “Your brother Gwendal would glare at me all the time, as if I was some wicked queen in one of those story books Yuuri brought for the children, not to mention the twit von Christ fawning over Yuuri every _second_ and constantly extolling how amazing _you_ were, the former betrothed.”

“What,” Wolfram said, surprised.

“And the public....the _people_ they-“ Elizabeth stopped abruptly. Her hand going to her mouth. There was a moment of silence, and then another as Elizabeth wiped away angry tears. “I...wanted to make things easier, to get you back to talking to Yuuri again and for us to be friends, Wolf. I guess I’ve ruined it.”

Wolfram felt sympathetic tears in his eyes. Both of them had always been quite emotional. It’s why they clashed so much.

“Elizabeth-“

“But I’m _not_ sorry for loving Yuuri, not at all. I’m sorry because...of what happened...but not for my feelings. I love him, Wolf, and he loves me.” With a shaky breath Elizabeth turned to go.

“Elizabeth...stay.” She stopped and turned back, a look of wary hope. “No...I should be going, I have an appointment.”

It had been a long time since he had considered Elizabeth a friend. They had grown apart and not once had he ever thought about why, so caught up in his own world. He was self-centred. He always knew that. He was still angry with what had happened and terribly sad. But, maybe, it was time to get beyond that, to at least try. Maybe he could get to know Elizabeth again.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

“Then, some other time you can visit?”

Elizabeth nodded and smiled, a very slight smile escaped Wolfram in return. “Will you come to the castle, Wolfram?”

 _I don’t know._

“I’ll think about it.”

~***~

Murata got back early that afternoon, at least two hours before sunset. A rare enough occurrence that Wolfram suspected that he knew about Elizabeth’s visit...though he said nothing.

Nor did Wolfram, not at first.

He was curled up in his usual chair, reading one of General Sebastion von Karbelnikoff’s books on the strategy on a few famous battles of the era, when he heard Murata tapping his pen on the desk, an irritating staccato that didn’t let up. Murata was annoyed at something.

Wolfram got up and wandered over, curious.

Murata twisted his finger in his braid and placed his head on the desk dramatically. Wolfram smiled, the Sage had become much more open around him lately. “It’s the old Walsham River dispute,” said Murata morosely, his voice muffled by the desk. “It’s raised its ugly head once more.”

“The one from up north of Bielefeld, near one of the human borders?”

“The very same.” Murata raised his head and gave him an annoyed look. Without thought, Wolfram placed his hand on Murata’s nape, thumb circling lightly in comfort.

Wolfram dimly recalled something about the Walsham River causing conflict before, going back a few generations...mazoku generations. One of the minor mazoku lords had been dumping waste from their mills into the river, which fed into a major tributary for the agricultural plains of the human lands. Every now and again, floods would wash out the refuse which had been heretofore stagnating in the shallows and devastate crops. Suffice it to say, the humans weren’t too happy about this.

“If that lord was doing the same here, the Maou would have cut his family down aeons ago,” Wolfram commented and Murata nodded grimly, pulling his glasses off and chewing on one arm of the frame. He pulled his head to one side to encourage Wolfram’s small rubdown. “I do remember some reports from earlier on the subject.” Wolfram wrinkled his forehead, thinking, bringing his other hand to rub the back of Murata’s neck. He did that for a few minutes before Murata gently batted his hand away and turned in his chair, looking up at Wolfram tiredly.

“Shibuya wants to finally come to some resolution on the issue. He’s been petitioned by the human envoy from the area and relations have become quite...strained. The local lord has been called to account in a week’s time, but I’m finding it difficult to find any precedent for forcing his hand. Between the upcoming bi-annual budget and the arrangements for the newborn’s ceremony I’m running out of time.”

“Do you want me to have a look,” Wolfram offered. “I’m not familiar with the archive classification in the temple, but if you show me around before you leave tomorrow morning I can give it a try. I’m able to read high old mazoku.” There was always some interesting material in the older records and Wolfram had practice doing research when he’d been betrothed to Yuuri. Gwendal had _insisted_ , to be groomed as consort. He’d found it...more interesting than he thought, not as exciting as going out on patrol, but his mind relished the challenge.

Murata gave him a grateful look. “That would be a kindness. I’ll show you the section which stores the documents from 2000 onwards and introduce you to Stina, her specialty is theology but she’s good with the classifications. Lord von Christ is focusing on the archive at the castle, but if there isn’t anything there....”

Wolfram nodded, understanding. A lot of the castle records were moved to the temple during the war, to be kept under Shinou’s protection if the capital was ransacked.

He sat down at the other chair on the side and said quietly to Murata.

“Elizabeth came today.”

Murata nodded, not saying anything.

“She asked that I go visit the castle. She wants me to talk to His Majesty.”

“Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea, Wolfram. That is...if you want to assist the king in the future.”

“Go back to the meetings?” Though it was more a confirmation than a question.

Murata nodded. “With this Walsham River dispute, Lord von Christ and I have a special meeting to go over it in two days time with Shibuya. It would be valuable for you to be there...for the research.” Murata gave him a questioning look.

He took a deep breath.

“What is on the agenda?” And Murata smiled and picked up his hand and kissed it.

~***~

Which is why Wolfram found himself in Yuuri’s private reference room two days later, grateful for having a place to sit after the rushed walk across the castle. After the meeting, Yuuri had asked him here, and...Wolfram had agreed. Murata had lingered a little to put together his documents and then had invited Günter to the library to go over some points they had discussed at the meeting.

“I’ll meet you mid afternoon then, at the library?” Murata had asked and Wolfram nodded.

There was a moment of silence when everyone had left the main meeting room. “Oh.” Yuuri hit his head. “There was something...I have to show you, and it’s back at my rooms. I forgot it. Do you mind coming?

Of course not. He’d walked across the length of the castle down two long corridors, doing his best to keep up with Yuuri, whose stride was long and eager. Yuuri was tall, just a little shorter than Gwendal, not like Murata who was the same height as Wolfram. Wolfram was grateful for his walking cane.

When they had arrived at Yuuri’s rooms, Wolfram had found himself slowing down. He didn’t...he _didn’t_ want to face going back there. Yuuri turned and looked at him with a frown, stopping for a second.

“My reference room was moved to Greta’s old room.” He pointed to a door on the other side. “To make way for the nursery. Would you like to wait in there while I go grab the...I won’t be long.”

Walking at that pace for that long had taxed his limits and he was afraid of that pain coming back. It was beginning to worry him, he stretched he legs out under the reference room’s large oak table.

Perhaps he should mention it to Murata.

The door opened, and there was Yuuri. His emotions were back on his face, just like the old Yuuri he had known. “Sorry I took a little bit of time...a messenger came. It never ends.” Yuuri grimaced.

He sat down at the corner of the table, next to Wolfram and started talking, nervously.

“There was talk of having another ceremony, but...I don’t know. I’d thought I’d ask you first.” And Yuuri handed him a case.

“Your Majesty?” He asked, and Yuuri gave him a plaintive look.

“Open it.”

Inside was a black medal, the Maou’s Cross.

“Yuu- Your Majesty...this-”

“It’s yours. For your services at the Battle of Abney. It has your name inscribed on the back.

The Maou’s Cross, the most prestigious medal any soldier could be given. And many of those who did received it posthumously.

“I don’t deserve this.” Wolfram blinked his eyes, willing away tears. “I wasn’t the only one, not on that day. I did no more or less than any other soldier on that field.”

There was a pause. Wolfram rubbed his thumb absently along the rim of the case using the opportunity to rein in his emotions. This was the quietest part of the castle, and the silence was palpable.

“I didn’t want you to have it, either,” Yuuri admitted.

Wolfram looked up.

“Not because you weren’t brave and not because you didn’t go above your duty. I read the accounts of your men, Wolfram. It was you who motivated them, and you didn’t have to...and putting yourself in harm’s way for them...and for me. I didn’t want this... because it was a poor replacement for having you with me.”

“Yuuri-“

“All those years watching you sleep. All I wanted was to have you back. All I wanted was to see you open your eyes. I would plead with Shinou at night, to bring you back. To heal you. I’d have given up being king, my powers...I’d have given up everything for you to wake up.”

“You’re the king. Don’t be an _idiot_ ,” Wolfram said, but his voice was gentle. “You’re _more_ important.”

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut. “No...not for me. Not back then.”

 _Back then._

“But, it’s changed now, Wolf. It had to change and I accepted that. It was a moment in time. It was so difficult, so hard. Then, Liz came. She understood and it wasn’t that long that we became close.

Wolfram closed his eyes. It was hard to hear Yuuri’s confession, but he couldn’t begrudge Yuuri that need for comfort. Being away at the temple, having time to think about things and Elizabeth’s visit had changed how he felt. It still hurt, but it was more like a dull ache that flared up every now and again instead of a frequent burning stab of anger, hurt, and sorrow. Hopefully, one day, the ache would go away altogether, but he didn’t think he’d ever forget.

“That moment we had before was real. I loved you. Wolfram, you were my first in my heart then. You were everything. It’s…over now, but I loved you and being engaged to you was one of the best moments in my life. I want you to believe that. If nothing else.”

Yuuri looked him in the eye, so desperate for Wolfram to accept what he was saying.

Wolfram inhaled a deep shaky breath.

“I know...Yuuri.”

“I’m glad.”

“What?” said Wolfram confused.

“You’re calling me by my name again. I want us to be friends, Wolf. I missed you so much over the years, and for you to be here now… It’s just, I _missed_ you.”

“Yes, well.” Wolfram shrugged and he snapped the case close and placed it on the desk. He didn’t know what to say and was surprised with what he did. “I never got the farewell kiss.” His voice came out petulant. It was custom when a betrothal ended that the higher rank would give a public kiss, a public ending. Yet, this wasn’t in public and the dissolution of their engagement had happened without shame because of his illness.

Yuuri looked at him gravely with a long assessing gaze. For a minute there Wolfram had thought he’d ruined things. He hadn’t planned to say that. But, maybe, that was a lie. He wanted one more kiss.

Yuuri leaned forward and Wolfram had a moment of panic. This was wrong, this was...it was a chaste kiss on the lips, simple and sweet. _He doesn’t smell right_. There was no scent of incense which permeated the temple, and the dusty smell of papers and ink he’d grown to like. Yuuri smelt of the outdoors, leather and...perfume, Elizabeth’s favourite.

 _This is wrong._ A tear fell down his face as Yuuri placed his hand on his cheeks and kissed his forehead. But, perhaps, this wasn’t such a bad idea at all. Wolfram took another shuddering breath as Yuuri enveloped him in a hug, still smelling wrong but this was Yuuri, his king, his friend, and he’d always love him.

The hug ended and Yuuri pulled away and Wolfram lowered his head and rubbed one eye.

“I’m glad about you and Murata,” Yuuri said in a low rough voice. “Although, at first, I was jealous. Which was unfair.”

“Murata is a good friend,” Wolfram said stiffly. “He has been very kind. I have grown to care for him. It’s been a satisfactory alliance.”

Yuuri gave him an odd smile.

“Oh, _Wolf_. Have a care. Murata loves you.”

“Loves me?” Wolfram said, surprised and gave Yuuri an incredulous look.

“Well, _yeah_!”

Yuuri must be mistaken. He had always been sentimental about marriage and betrothal, even all these years being amongst the mazoku aristocracy and marrying Elizabeth didn’t help. In fact, it was the opposite. She was also overly-romantic (it had been the same with their own engagement). But romance wasn’t a common thing amongst their class.

But if that’s what Yuuri thought, then Wolfram wasn’t going to disabuse him of the notion.

Murata was a good friend and trusted ally and that was what he needed the most.

~***~

Murata found him at the window seat at one of the alcoves. Getting back had been tiring, and predictably the pain had troubled him and he’d had to stop for a rest. It had been a long day.

“You walked all the way to Shibuya’s suite.” Murata’s voice was deceptively mild as ever but Wolfram could sense the disapproval. He was starting to get good at reading Murata’s tone.

“Yuuri gave me a medal.” He held the case up. _And he kissed me goodbye._

Leaning on his cane he tried to get up. Pain blossomed in his chest and he faltered for a second, trying and failing to cover it up he sat back down heavily. He refused to see Murata’s disappointment. He looked out the window, the pain had gone as suddenly as it had appeared. The shadows below were lengthening. He thought of their rooms back at the temple. He didn’t want any drama. He just wanted to go home.

Murata sat down next to him.

“You’ve overdone it.” The voice was mild again and he pulled Wolfram back against him, his back flush against Murata’s chest, arms coming around his waist.

“How long have you had the pain,” he breathed into Wolfram’s ear. The words were clipped and short like sharp pebbles, but it was softened when Murata’s hand went up and pulled one strand of hair back from his face, stroking tenderly, absently.

Wolfram relaxed as Murata’s hands stroked his shoulders, and down onto his chest.

“After I started walking, but it’s been getting worse...I thought it was because I’ve been working harder.” And Wolfram realised that Murata’s hand that was circling his chest around his heart was probing, scanning his body as healers did.

Murata’s hand stopped, just over his heart for a moment and it felt warm.

“You’ll need to tell me everything.”

~***~

Wolfram sat down on the bed, feeling better after a soak, even if it was just the portable bath that Murata had ordered the servants to bring up. He looked over the unfamiliar room. This was Murata’s guest room, the place he stayed at the castle when work kept him late and almost as messy as their residence at the temple. Medical and diplomatic books were overflowing everywhere.

“I spent almost all my nights here before we got engaged,” Murata said. He was changing into his nightgown. There was still light outside. Murata had decided they would stay here tonight and Wolfram had no energy to argue, still feeling raw from the talk with Yuuri. Murata wanted to consult with Wilhelm on his health and he’d sent a messenger requesting Gisela’s attendance. His rehabilitation had been cancelled.

Wolfram knew that Murata was worried. What he’d discovered when he probed his chest, he didn’t know and he’d not asked. Murata was in the habit of keeping his opinions to himself until he was sure of the facts, and Wolfram didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to be afraid.

Sinking into the mattress, Murata pushed him down and Wolfram curled around Murata, warm, steady, and solid.

Murata turned his head and kissed his cheek, and then down to his mouth, Murata’s tongue hot and seeking entrance and Wolfram allowed it, his body melting. It felt good and he enjoyed it as Murata slid his hand down his back. Murata was hard against his thigh.

Wolfram pulled away. “I’m afraid I’m...not quite up to this now,” he said in embarrassment. “But I’m happy to please you.” He stroked his hand down Murata’s chest and stomach and his hand was stilled, gently.

“No, I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s good to have a break from your enthusiasm.” Murata teased him.

Wolfram felt his face heating up, slapping Murata’s shoulder lightly.

“I can’t help it that I’ve reached bloom,” he said referring to the general usage for mazoku sexual development.” He wanted to pull the blanket over his head. For all the things they had done together, they had hardly spoken about sex at all. Murata had not seemed to mind.

“And,” he muttered weakly. “I’m still catching up.”

Murata seemed to be laughing at him, his eyes in the dim light amused but not unkind. He kissed Wolfram lightly. “And to think you have another two decades before you hit the peak and at least two more before you settle down, not to mention your affinity for fire.” Yes, he was a fire elemental user, which would ratchet up his desire considerably. There was a good reason why most fire elementals waited until much later to marry.

“Well, you’d better do your best to keep up for the next fifty years.” The last few words came out a bit weak and he laughed nervously. He was being presumptuous, for not all betrothals would end in marriage and Murata knew why he’d proposed.

But Murata did not miss a beat. “I’m looking forward to it. I have countless ideas to keep your attention.” And despite his tiredness Wolfram shivered as Murata gave him another lingering kiss. “But, for now, I think sleep is good.”

 _Perhaps it is too early, but I think I’m falling in love with you. I don’t think you feel the same. Please don’t hurt me. I couldn’t bear it a second time_ was his last thought before sleep as Murata rested his hand gently on his heart.

~***~

Wolfram was on that hill again, but this time his mind was much sharper.

“I remember this,” he said.

“I hoped you would, eventually.” He turned to find Shinou behind him.

“Still interfering in mortal lives?”

Shinou shrugged unapologetically. “I want to show you something.”

The scene changed, and they were in that room, the one he’d vowed never to go into again.

Wilhelm was sponging down his arms, pale and still on the bed. This time, his hair was long, nobody had cut it for a while. There was a tube down his throat, a feeder, just as Wilhelm had described to him later. And there was a needle in his arm to keep him hydrated which connected to a clear bag full of fluid hanging above. He’d remembered them vaguely when he had awoken. Human technologies, which Murata had brought from earth in combination with mazoku healing techniques, to keep him whole enough over the years.

Wilhelm looked up as if to greet someone and Wolfram turned to see Murata at the door, a stack of books in his hands.

“How is he?”

“Well, it’s almost time to put him back into stasis. He’s developed some bed sores which are becoming harder to heal. In stasis, we’ll be able to make a thorough job of it. We’ll also need to talk about muscle deterioration later.”

Murata nodded, grim faced.

“That was your daily reality,” Shinou said in his ear and Wolfram jumped, having forgotten Shinou. “You’re lucky you were the king’s fiancé, most loved. You had the best care anyone could get. Even mazoku have limits when it comes to illness. Of course, my Sage was also determined to keep you as well as was possible.”

“When is this?”

“A year before you woke up. It is fortunate you woke when you did. Your body was reaching its limits. Only a few years before, you had an ugly bout of pneumonia, which is common for those with your affliction and it took all of Gisela and Murata’s skill to heal you.” Shinou pointed to his still body. “I’d doubt you’d have survived another infection. Towards the later years, only two people had kept faith that you would wake up.”

As he said this, Wilhelm finished up and washed his hands in a basin.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Wilhelm nodded to Murata and, with a smile, the nurse was gone.

Murata put the books down on the table and turned to regard Wolfram for a moment. “You are most troublesome,” he said, but the tone was affectionate. Murata walked over and pushed aside some strands of blond hair clear from his forehead. Fingering one strand slowly, he bent over and pressed his lips to his forehead in a chaste kiss.

“Evening, dearest Wolfram.”

I remember, Wolfram thought, the ghost of Murata’s lips on his brow.

Then, Murata sat down, pulled his books out, along with ink and quill, and started his work. But this wasn’t the silent Murata he’d seen working before. The Sage spoke the whole time, about his day, his work. He spoke to Wolfram as if he were listening, like a close friend. “Riki turned six today,” Murata said to him after he’d set aside his quill. “Lord Weller gifted him with a sword, and Riki was ecstatic. He wants to be a great warrior, like you. Shibuya has told him all about you, you know. Well, you do know. I’ve told you before.”

Murata pulled out a book, and settled himself next to Wolfram on that chair and started reading out loud the story, an epic tale from the early days, and Murata’s hand reached out and held Wolfram’s hand in his. He looked over his body, so pale and unresponsive. But he could remember that, more than once. How often did Murata come in and read to him, holding his hand just like that.

 _“Have a care. Murata loves you.”_   



“Why are you showing me this?”

“Just watch,” Shinou responded.

Murata finished the chapter and sighed, pulling his glasses off onto his lap, still holding Wolfram’s pale hand.

“If you awake...no _when_ you awake, it’s not going to be easy. I don’t think you’ll be happy about Shibuya’s decisions... But, maybe, you will understand in time. He was lonely. I hope you come to forgive him for that. It’s not easy to see the one you love most right there, but forever out of reach, not being able to touch them or...share a life with them. Shibuya still loves you. He’ll always love you...” Murata smiled down at him. “You are very easy to love.” The look Murata gave him was unmistakable.

Wolfram gasped out loud as realisation hit him.

“Yes,” Shinou said. “He always loved you, probably before even the king did, but he was always good at hiding his feelings.”

With a start, Wolfram woke up. He was in bed, Murata’s arm still resting across his chest, the Sage’s face deep in slumber. He pulled the Sage’s arms aside slowly and got out of bed.

Wolfram needed to get away, to clear his head. There was a small and familiar pain in his heart, but he ignored it.

His mind was in turmoil. Murata had known he’d recover. He was the only one who had been _absolutely_ certain. And Murata had loved him, loved him before he’d gotten ill.

And he’d never told Yuuri. He had watched as Yuuri had gotten closer to Elizabeth and not said a word.

Murata had said it was because he didn’t want Yuuri to have hope, and Wolfram had accepted that. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Shinou’s dream had changed everything.

The twinge in his heart bloomed into pain and he bent over, holding onto a chair to find breath until the sharp pained passed. It had always done so before.

Straightening, he quietly got dressed. He needed some time alone, to think. He’d take one of the horses at the stable and ride up to the sacred hill. He’d be there in time for dawn and, perhaps, that would calm his thoughts. It had worked before, all those years when he’d been mad at Yuuri, and before, during the war when the world had gone crazy.

By the time he’d made it up to the tree, the pain had come back. Distant. Perhaps he ought not to have pushed his body so far, so quickly. But the ride had been effortless, the skills coming back to him so easily; if it wasn’t for his inner turmoil, he would have loved it. He tethered the horse to a low branch on the tree and looked down at the city. It was still dark, but the sky had turned to grey.

He would wait until dawn before returning. By then, he should feel a little better.

It was about half an hour later that he spied the horse coming up the hill, the rider was wearing a brown cloak. But he knew it could only be one of a handful of people and the way the rider sat awkwardly gave him the first clue. Murata had a gift for locating people, perhaps it was Shinou whispering in his ear or some other ability Wolfram didn’t know about – but it had led him here.

Wolfram found himself too tired to raise much ire.

Stiffly, Murata got off the horse, pulling the dark brown cloak from his face, his long black hair falling forward, he hadn’t even tied it back. Wolfram didn’t acknowledge him. A few steps and Murata stopped and looked at him, the sun just breaking behind him.

“Where you sit is where Shinou made his contract with the Maou,” Murata said in a strange tone.

“Oh, let me guess. You’re going to tell me how much I look like him. It’s not like anybody else has,” Wolfram said bitterly.

Murata cocked his head, paused, and sat next to him, looking down and out at the city as the sun poked its way over the hills.

“It’s true. You look very much like him. But you are a very different person,” Murata confirmed quietly.

“Is that why you want me? Because I _look_ like him?” Wolfram said.

Murata inhaled loudly but did not answer him. Wolfram turned his head to see Murata’s expression but the sun was now fully glinting off his glasses. There was another moment of silence.

“Why did you take off without telling anyone where you were, Wolfram? This isn’t good for you. I was worried.”

There were about five hundred things Wolfram could have responded with.

“Shinou told me how long you’ve pined after me.”

“Ah,” Murata said quietly and there was no denial.

“Is that why you kept me alive, why you never told Yuuri I would wake up? Why we’re engaged and why I share your bed?”

Wolfram couldn’t help the hysterics in his voice and he clutched his chest as the pain struck again.

“You proposed to me. You offered to be my lover,” Murata pointed out, his voice still calm. It made Wolfram even more furious. He wanted to shake the Sage.

“Of course, where else could I have gone?” and he turned fully to Murata, wanting to see his expression.

Murata took his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a second. When he opened them he looked at Wolfram. There was a desperate, raw look there.

“I can only tell you the truth. I loved you for a long time. Though, I did not know it till much later. Wanted you longer, yes. It was because you looked like Shinou. It’s what drew me to you originally. But it wasn’t that which made me fall for you.”

“What was that?” Wolfram asked, desperate for the truth.

“Because of your passion. Because you love life, and Shin Makoku, and painting, and horse riding and your family, all those things so intensely and without shame. Because you loved Shibuya so, and you wore it on your face and didn’t care to bother what anyone else thought. I loved you for that. I love you still for that. That passion is something...I was drawn to. It was something that I’d lacked for so long and being around it, it made me feel it again. You made me feel alive. You made me feel like living.” Murata’s face twisted a little at the end. So very un-sage like.

“I loved Yuuri...I still love Yuuri,” Wolfram said. Pointing out one of the things Murata had said, using it as a weapon because he wanted someone else to hurt as much as he did. Sometimes, the best defence was an offence. Though, it was far too late to shield his heart.

Murata looked down. Perfect score. Wolfram suddenly hated himself but didn’t want to relent.

“Yes. I know...I know.” Murata repeated again. “I would not have come between you. I fully expected you both to wed and I would have been happy for you both.” Murata’s voice regained some semblance of calm. “I expected to sanctify your union. But fate had other ideas. Wolfram, I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry that you lost all those years.”

“You could have _told him_ ,” Wolfram said furiously, his voice getting gruff with grief, and he put his hand to his chest as the pain starting to bother him.

“I...” Murata voice was strained. “Perhaps I should have.”

 _“Have a care, Wolf. Murata loves you.”_   

_“He always loved you”_   



“You really love me…?” Wolfram said in a whisper.

“Yes.” Murata gave him a quirky smile. “More fool me.”

The pain struck in force, sharper than ever before, like fire and all Wolfram could do was gasp, his hands over his chest. He looked down and saw a ghostly sword plunged into his ribs, his clothes blood-soaked as the older memory came to him. He looked up, expecting to see the enemy soldier, a snarl on his lips but, instead, there was Murata saying something and clutching his shoulders. He fell forward bonelessly, his head on Murata’s shoulder and he could faintly feel the arms around him, Murata’s long hair on his cheek. Things were greying, becoming vague and distant.

“Murata...” he called, and the pain stopped and darkness took him.

To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have spied, a scene in this chapter was inspired by toshimalfoy from her lovely story 'Whispers from the Rye'


	3. Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks for gkeeper91 who encouraged me with this ending and betaed my work. Also to HARPG0 for all her support.

Wolfram gasped, thrown into cruel consciousness abruptly, his chest burning as he sucked in oxygen desperately.

“Everything is fine. You’re safe now.”

That was a woman’s voice, steady and soothing; a hand on his chest eased the pain a little. He hurt, he _hurt_ so much. Wolfram pushed his hands out, floundering, searching. Fingers curled around his right hand tightly and he focused on that, anything but the pain.

“Wolf, be still.” That urgent voice he _knew_. Yuuri. He was held down though he had instinctively obeyed, would always obey that voice, the king, _his_ king. However, there was someone else he wanted…someone else he needed.

The pain, mercifully, became remote and he came in and out of awareness as the woman…Gisela, spoke to Yuuri. Wolfram thought he heard Conrad and Gwendal in the background.

But not the voice of the one he needed. If he had strength he would ask, but he couldn’t even open his eyes.

“He’s stable for now, Your Majesty.”

Wolfram lost consciousness.

When he awoke, it was to the sound of horses and the smell of campfire and burning. No, not just the usual wood burn of camp cooking, but something even more invasive. A smouldering acridness hung in the air, reminiscent of the aftermath of a grass fire amid an underlying stench of scorched meat. He cracked his eyes open: it was terribly bright. Why was it so bright? Why weren’t the curtains drawn? It took a moment to make sense of where he was.

Wolfram was in a tent and there was a warm hand on his. He turned his head to the right and there was Yuuri on a military issued camp bed which was pushed up against the one he was on. Yuuri had his hand on Wolfram’s and his face looked young.

Yuuri opened his eyes. “Wolf?”

“Yuuri,” he managed in a ragged whisper.

What had happened? Why was he here? Where was…where was Murata? A sliver of fear curled in his belly.

“Hush, don’t speak. You’ve been injured but you’ll be okay. You just need to rest. We’ll be going back to the capital in a day or so when you’ve healed some more.”

Yuuri’s face was grimy, sooty, and there were tear trails down his face. He wondered if Yuuri knew that everyone could see he had been crying.

“Where is...” He swallowed, his throat sore. “Where is Murata?”

Yuuri looked at him oddly and answered slowly. “He’s back at the temple, in the capital.”

What? How? “Where am I?”

“Near Abney. There was a battle. Don’t you remember? It was two days ago.”

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t _be_. What deceit was this? His distress must have been obvious, and Wolfram found himself on the knife edge of panic while he pulled his body up on one elbow.

Yuuri placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him calm.

“You said you would come back, Wolf. I knew you would, you promised, remember?”

Wolfram flinched away from his touch, refusing to look at Yuuri. This was _not_ happening.

“No…I _don’t_ understand.” Wolfram tried to get up and with a cry fell back on the bed. He sucked in oxygen, trying to calm the hysteria that was threatening to break through, the sliver of fear growing. He had to keep control, to make sense of what was happening. How could he be here? Where was Murata? He squeezed his eyes closed tightly, this had to be a dream, maybe some fevered delirium. But when he opened it again, Yuuri was still there, his hand on his chest and he looked worried.

“Maybe you hit your head. I didn’t check for that...I’ll go get Gisela. I’ll only be a moment.”

As soon as he heard the tent flap fall with Yuuri’s exit, he pulled himself up. The pain came back to his chest and he gasped, hanging tightly onto the side of the tiny bed until the worse had passed.

This couldn’t be a dream. It felt _too_ real, the smell and sounds tangible. Perhaps this was some trick. A mind game from Shinou or another creature of heaven playing with mortal minds.

Wolfram sought out the obvious.

“Shinou…Shinou, you bastard piece of scum. What the fuck are you doing? Where have you brought me?”

“Such ill-mannered language to address your god, and here I thought you were raised better.” Shinou appeared at the end of the bed, looking as regal as ever in his antiquated robe and armour. Though his words were stern, his expression was amused.

“What have you done?” Wolfram demanded bluntly, not interested in banter. His suspicion was like a bitter hole in his gut. This had to be some stupid game, the alternative was too painful to imagine. With effort, he kept his breathing steady and ignored the fear.

“Nothing,” Shinou said mildly. “Your fiancé saved your life and unwittingly defied a fundamental heavenly law to bring you back. Running off down that hill like that was suicide. Such a silly choice you made; you should have stayed by your king’s side. But what’s done _canno_ t be undone. I do hope your future choices won’t be as foolish or cause as many repercussions.”

“You took me back? You took me back just after the battle.” He covered his mouth with his hand, suppressing hysterics by a fine thread. The only thing grounding him was his anger. He focused on that, held on to it. Pulling his hand away, he put both of them on the edge of the bed, white knuckled and glared at Shinou. “Return me _now_.”

“That I cannot do. You have gone nowhere, you were always here,” Shinou answered casually, flicking his hair back. The atmosphere around them was still and dimly Wolfram noticed that the din of a military camp had disappeared. The only noise came from inside the tent, loud within the silence, Shinou’s boots and Wolfram’s breath.

“But…Murata. I am _betrothed_ to Murata. Yuuri married Elizabeth. I was in a coma.”

Wolfram _was_ betrothed to Murata.

Breathe. In and out. Breathe. If Shinou saw his distress, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Yes. That was the vision I gave you. Realistic wasn’t it? Well, of course it was. It was a possible future.”

“A...possible future.” Wolfram repeated in stunned disbelief.

“Well, the most plausible future if you had not recovered. It’s hard to say.” Shinou waved his hand nonchalantly. “The future constantly shifts all the time – but as of a day ago, it was the most likely. Didn’t end well for you, the damage to your heart was ultimately fatal. My Sage cradling your dead body on that hill, not something I would have liked to have happened. Though you did make him happy for a while. Which is more than most mortals could say. What is it that I’ve been told about the human playwright from Earth? ‘Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?’ Needlessly sentimental, but it sounds true enough for you mortals.”

Dead on the hill. The pain in his chest…a noise broke from his mouth.

The thread broke.

Funny, he’d never thought losing his mind would be anything like this, everything became numb. Disjointed. He gladly surrendered.

“It didn’t happen?” Wolfram said slowly and his voice came to him from a long way, his mind had also become sluggish. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore. He shivered, cold.

“No.” Shinou said cheerfully. “Now you’re up and about, it won’t. And you’re whole. Shibuya Yuuri healed you completely, didn’t botch it up. That was me, incidentally, since it was a mortal choice, I had to make sure he did it right. You can thank me later, though I will have to do something about the young king after the slaughter on that field. I’m afraid my dear Sage’s life will still have to be bound to him. So _that_ I cannot change.” The last words came out bitter.

“I’m not engaged to Murata?” Wolfram repeated faintly, not sure what Shinou was saying anymore, and it occurred to him that maybe this was shock and not insanity, not that he had any knowledge to tell either way. Maybe it was both. But whatever it was, it was a mercy. He had a feeling that if he allowed himself to really feel, he’d start screaming and wouldn’t stop.

He watched as Shinou walked around the tent, poking his fingers into various things and not heeding Wolfram at all as he answered.

“Of course not. Well, not _now_ , though I’m sure you can remedy that, if you want.”

As if what he wanted mattered anymore, as if what he wanted had _ever_ mattered. Perhaps if he closed his eye it would go away. He wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore, deal with anything.

 _Now I know what that burning smell is._ He realised this in dull horror. A horse whinnied nearby and the flap on the tent fluttered with the wind.

He didn’t notice that Shinou had disappeared or when Yuuri returned with Gisela, or Yuuri calling to him, or the blanket that was put around his shoulders, or anything much after that for some time.

~***~

Wolfram spent much of the return trip on the back of a covered supply wagon at the rear of the military procession. Physically, he felt comfortable enough, leaning against two sacks of wheat, his mind cushioned with calming herbs which Gisela had provided to help with his ‘shock’.

A few days had passed since they had set out, or so Conrad had said, and his mind had come back partially from that place in his head which had felt so safe. He was able to process things again, though only sluggishly. He knew rationally there was something wrong with his state of mind, for normally he would have protested, wanting to be on his horse. But he was fine here, and it was easier to be away from Yuuri.

Fortunately that wasn’t so difficult.

Yuuri was out and about along the convoy, so as to be seen by his men, or so Wolfram supposed. To keep him company in turns, there had been Gisela, Gwendal and Conrad. Yuuri had been there, but those moments were hard on Wolfram. He could barely look at Yuuri without a whirlwind of emotions tearing through him, leaving him incapable of doing anything but clench his fists and gasp for breath, and then Yuuri would go away.

At the present Conrad was sitting opposite and watching him worriedly. His brother would have _had_ to be here at Yuuri’s insistence; for ever since the fighting had begun Conrad had been practically welded to the king’s side. Or so Wolfram recalled: events which had happened only days ago was months old in Wolfram’s memory.

There were two other men in their wagon, wounded, one on a pallet with a leg injury, drugged unconscious, and another man, only a boy really, with tangled blue hair coated with blood. All that Wolfram could see of his head was bandaged, and his big eyes looked as vague and fuzzy as Wolfram felt.

Wolfram’s head still felt cold and everything felt far-away, remote that even the loud organised chaos of an army on the move hardly registered. Even his future life had become fuzzy. Perhaps that was the drugs, though it didn’t make it feel any less real. He knew it wasn’t true, that life, the _vision_ that Shinou put upon him. It never came to pass; it _didn’t_ happen. But that vision felt _real_.

Five months of his life gone, forever. Now it only existed in his head.

It felt real. He looked down at his hand and studied the dirt under his nails, his thoughts wandering erratically.

What would it be like when he saw Murata?

 _Oh, Murata._ In that vision, Wolfram had died. He died after saying all those hateful things to Murata, leaving the Sage alone. But that _wasn’t_ real; it didn’t happen. It was thirty years in a future that Shinou had averted. The numbness was disappearing with his agitation, and he was starting to hurt again. He couldn’t have that. Wolfram took another deep breath and let the drugs in his system lull him back into a semblance of numbness, though he clenched the wheat bag to his right tightly, his knuckles white. Even his body didn’t even feel familiar anymore.

“Wolfram, are you well? Do you need me to get Gisela?”

Wolfram shook his head at Conrad. “No…I’m fine. I’m just tired,” he added when Conrad looked unconvinced.

His brother moved over to his side and handed him some water. “Maybe this will help.”

Wolfram took the water gratefully and took a few gulps –, concentrating on that simple act. It was one tangible, safe thing to focus on, and it stopped his mind from drifting into dangerous territory.

He didn’t want to be here. Oh Shinou, _help_ him. He didn’t know what he should do. Wolfram tolerated Conrad pulling him against his side gently. It was a warm day but Wolfram felt cold. Without thought, he turned and put his arm around Conrad in a hug. He focused his thoughts on his brother, ignoring anything else. Conrad had looked after Yuuri for decades after he’d fallen in that... ‘other life’…well, he _hadn’t_ …but that was semantics in Wolfram’s mind. Conrad had kept Yuuri sane and well. Conrad had _had_ Yozak. Maybe Wolfram being well this time around would change that outcome. He couldn’t let that happen; someone should be happy.

“Any of us could die at any time,” he murmured against his brother’s chest. “I could have died…I feel like I have.”

He didn’t mean to admit that, but it was true. Death was preferable to how he felt now. Only his  
numbness made things tolerable.

“Wolfram…” Conrad murmured uneasily.

“Life is too short to waste time. I know your feelings for Yozak. He loves you. Don’t let him wait any longer.”

“I…” Conrad said, his voice trailing off uncomfortably.

Wolfram looked up into his brother’s eyes. “Promise me, brother, that at least you will try.”  
There was silence. Not that Wolfram was surprised by this. He didn’t push, only resting his head against his brother’s chest. Conrad had never been one to talk about feelings, most especially _his_ own feelings.

After about ten minutes, Conrad sighed and spoke, his voice barely audible, “I promise.” Conrad’s arms around him were solid, real and dependable. The only thing that he could believe in, in this moment.

Wolfram closed his eyes and slept.

~***~

 

The next day, or the next day he _could_ remember, he found Shinou sitting opposite him. Everyone else was asleep, even Conrad. Shinou looked at him sadly and sighed.

“Mortals are so fragile.”

Anger bloomed in his chest, sharp against the numbness. He wasn’t fragile; he was a soldier, and he could handle a lot physically…but this…this wasn’t anything he thought anyone could deal with. Shinou had no idea. He addressed the first king incredulously.

“What did you expect? You show me another life where I learnt to be content after being ripped from all I knew. It wasn’t easy but eventually I found happiness. And now you expect me to fall back into my old life as if nothing happened. I’ve already lost one life. I don’t know how to deal with another loss. I don’t think I can.”

Shinou looked at him in puzzlement, adjusted his robe carefully, and then shrugged.

“Perchance I miscalculated. I was going to make that other life fade so it became like a dream in time, but I think I should hasten matters along. You are no good to the Sage broken...”

Shinou placed his hand on his head.

“No... _don’t_.” He protested. Wolfram didn’t want to lose Murata. The only thing he had left was in his mind, and he could not bear that loss as well. For he knew, instinctively, that his emotions would not change. He’d still care for Murata and no longer love Yuuri. Without the memory, he’d be left with no more than confusion and shame at such feelings.

“Don’t worry, my pretty one. You won’t forget what’s important, though I don’t expect you’ll understand why or forgive...”

When he woke again, his mind was sharper. Everything made much more sense, though it didn’t make his anguish any less. He recalled Shinou’s actions and touched his brow cautiously. Other than his head no longer feeling like it was overstuffed with thick cotton, Wolfram didn’t feel any differently. Then again, how would he know?

“No more, Shinou. If you violate my mind once more, I will take my life.” It was a vow said in a desolate whisper.

Of course there was no reply.

Wolfram searched his thoughts, finding gaps and some memories were like a dream, just like what Shinou had promised - _that_ he remembered clearly, including the discussion from when he first awoke. Yet, he could scarcely remember the last few days.

Fear went through him, the details of dreams evaporated quickly. He needed to remember what he still had.

“Do you have any spare paper?” he asked the young boy with blue hair who was scribbling on a piece of paper with the stub of a pencil. The boy nodded timidly and handed him a crumpled page. “Do you mind if I can use the pencil for a second? I only have to write a short list.”

Leaning the paper against his leg, he scratched out the list. The last line he underlined twice before handing the pencil back. He guess he could have asked any of his brothers or Gisela but he needed to write everything he knew immediately.

He read the lines again, even the first was becoming hard to recollect. “Yuuri marries Elizabeth and both of them were happy together.” But the last line, he didn’t think his heart could forget. He grazed his thumb over the line gently and closed his eyes.

 _“Clever boy.”_

Wolfram looked up and around. The only person around was the boy and the older soldier sleeping on the pallet along with the usual creaking of the wagon and noise from an army on the move. The words had been barely audible. It could have been Shinou, but just as easily it could have been his paranoia.

Carefully he folded the paper, and straightening out the crumples painstakingly, he placed in within his jacket, against his heart.

~***~

 

The wagon standing still woke him up. Wolfram had become used to the constant rumbling noise and movement in the background. His heart sped up when he heard Murata’s voice, along with Gisela and Conrad. He lifted his head, trying to pick up the conversation amongst the general noise of horses and wagons and soldiers talking.

“Could you take a look at him...?” Another wagon rumbled by and drowned out Gisela’s voice.

“...shock sounds right...able to take a brief look...what I can...” Murata voice was presumably in response to whatever Gisela had said.

“Thank you... same since His Majesty healed him,” Conrad said.

A few moments later, Murata climbed into the back of the wagon, and Wolfram couldn’t stop staring. Murata was in his usual black, but there was brown dust from the road covering him and he looked so young, his hair short.

If Murata noticed his open mouth gawking, he said nothing. He gave a kind smile to the blue-haired youth who was also gaping. It wasn’t every day that a commoner saw the Great Sage.

“I heard you were injured,” Murata said gently, turning his attention to Wolfram, touching his hands to his chest gently. His touch was professional in just such a way that hurt Wolfram’s heart.

This wasn’t the way things should be. The memories were slipping from his mind, as Shinou had said, but Wolfram knew enough, felt enough to know that simple truth

“I feel like I died,” he responded flatly. “And Yuuri wiped out half an army.”

He still felt out of sorts, not the shock of before but a general despondency. However, he knew that Murata was the best person to confess his feelings, partly at least.

If not him, who else?

Murata nodded, there was no shock or surprise in his manner, and Wolfram was sure he already knew, or suspected.

“I suppose all the soldiers are talking of it. Shibuya is very powerful; it’s lucky he got to you in time.”

“Lucky,” Wolfram said, his voice sounded bleak to his ears. “He broke the rules of heaven for me, to bring me back from death.” Repeating what Shinou had told him drew forth a reaction. Murata’s hand paused in his ministrations and he asked Wolfram casually – _too_ casually.

“How did you know you died?”

“A dream... _just_ a dream.” And he laughed, a tad hysterically.

Murata touched his hand to his forehead lightly. “You still have a slight fever.”

Wolfram didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his hand and touched Murata’s hair, carding the soft strands though his fingers. “I liked it better when it was long,” he murmured.

He remembered it longer and Murata gave him a worried look at his confession.

Wolfram moved his hand down to caress Murata’s face tenderly. He felt lightheaded. And for a moment he could swear that Murata leaned his head into Wolfram’s touch.

Then the moment passed and Murata gave him a slightly indulgent look and touched his forehead lightly.

“Perhaps I am still a little unwell,” Wolfram admitted. But he didn’t immediately pull his hand away and Murata didn’t object.

After a minute, Murata said quietly, “I think you’ll be fine, drink plenty of water and rest for a week after you return to the castle, and you’ll be as good as new.”

Murata pulled away to leave and Wolfram grabbed his hand, holding it tight. “I _didn’t_ want to die. I didn’t want to leave.” I didn’t want to leave _you_. He searched Murata’s dark eyes for a reaction, for anything other than that bland, friendly concern.

Murata blinked and frowned, and Wolfram could see Murata’s shrewd mind trying to work out the meaning of his words. He had Murata’s full attention in that instant. _You know there is something wrong, Murata._ Think. _You know that there is more to this. Or…that I’m not right, not anymore. I can’t say, I’m afraid to try, but you could ask. Please_ ask.

“You’re fine now,” Murata assured him in a gentle steady voice, rubbing his shoulder. Wolfram squeezed his eyes shut in disappointment. It was that instance of friendly reassurance…. _only_ friendly...which broke through the last of Wolfram’s numbness. He wanted some type of connection, some recognition even if he knew it wasn’t possible. This Murata wasn’t his; _this_ Murata couldn’t understand. But Wolfram couldn’t help but try once more. Because...it was _still_ Murata. He hadn’t lost him yet, even if he wasn’t engaged to him in this reality.

 _I’m sure you can remedy that, if you want._

Shinou’s words came to him. Every single conversation with Shinou had stayed in his head and without that fugue of before, it was clear. (At least he hoped it was every single conversation; there was no way to know.) He shook his head and addressed Murata desperately, his hand still tight around his.

“No, I’m _not_ fine. It’s not the same. I don’t feel the same, _Murata Ken_.” I’m _not_ the same. Using Murata’s full name without his title was shockingly familiar, and he knew that was also bringing a reaction, but it didn’t feel unusual to address him that way.

Murata hesitated, brow creased in concern. But then he shook his head sadly and said, voice low, “I need to go, Lord von Bielefeld. But later, we will talk?” Murata made it sound like a promise.

Wolfram let go his hand abruptly with a tiny unhappy noise. But at least he could try again, to what end, he had no idea.

“Yes. When you get back?” He asked hopefully.

Murata looked at him a moment longer, his gaze intent, nodded once and left.

~***~

Wolfram insisted on riding on his horse against his brothers’ protests. He needed to come into the city mounted, even though he was not going through the main entrance with Yuuri and his brothers – but the back way with Gisela with the wounded and some of the supplies – he needed his mother and Greta to see that he was fine, and he wanted to be able to spend a bit of time with Blume. He was the glad the horse survived; he’d been worried for a moment that she was lost.

He looked at the words he’d written on the scrap of paper – he remembered the conversation with Shinou, he remembered writing these words down – but the memories behind them had all but gone. It frightened him, to know that he had such little control over his own thoughts, over his own memories. Forcing himself to remember made them disappear even faster, dissipating like a fine mist in the morning sun. But things would come to him, images. Some of them were ordinary, others…were embarrassingly intimate.

With that knowledge came intense anger, and despair, and a feeling of betrayal. But without the cause, without knowing why, it just confused him. His list was so brief there was so little detail. Why did he get engaged to Murata? How could Yuuri not wait for him when he was in a coma? How did he come to stop loving Yuuri and love Murata? How could he possibly ever stop loving Yuuri?

As they moved under the old portcullis up toward the back entrance, he could hear the cheers of the crowds down in the city. It would take another hour or so, probably more, before Yuuri made it to the castle. As much as he felt guilt for not being there with Yuuri, he was glad he didn’t have to join in. He didn’t think he would have had the strength.

He felt a little light-headed as he got down unsteadily from the horse.

“Papa.”

Wolfram found himself with a handful of a fast growing girl, almost as tall as he. He hadn’t seen Greta in over a month...but it felt much longer as he hugged her close. He squeezed her tightly, overcome by a heavy and overwhelming gratitude that his daughter was here with him.

“Papa. “

“I missed you, Greta.”

“Oh, Papa. I was so afraid.” They held each other tightly.

~***~

Yuuri shoved the papers onto the floor, along with open ink wells, scrolls and quills. Wolfram watched, uncomprehending, as the ink soaked into the expensive carpet.

It was the first day that Wolfram was allowed out of his bed and he was still trying to make sense of the world.

“This _isn’t_ going to happen,” Yuuri yelled at Gwendal. “People _died_.” Gwendal folded his arms and said nothing, not quite able to meet Yuuri’s eyes.

“It’s important for morale,” Conrad cut in smoothly.

Yuuri ignored him, his jaw flexing as he glared at no one in particular.

“Diplomatically, it will be significant, Shibuya, for there will be foreign envoys invited. It’s an opportunity for them to renew public fealty. For _peace_.” Murata’s voice was firm, but carefully shy of confrontational. He’d only just returned yesterday from inspecting the scorched battlefield around Abney. The Great Sage was as composed as ever, but there was a solemn air around him that Wolfram couldn’t help but see. If truth be told, Wolfram had spent most of the meeting stealing glances at him. The feelings he felt having Murata close by settled certainty in his gut.

“No. This is _not_ something to celebrate.” Yuuri was obstinate, getting up and looking out the window, turning his back on them.

Wolfram became aware uneasily that everyone was looking at him, _to_ him. But he wasn’t sure what to do; this short-tempered, volatile Yuuri wasn’t something he knew how to deal with. He was sure his own distance wasn’t helping. He had hardly seen Yuuri since returning to the castle, spending so much time in their rooms, with little energy to deal with anyone. Yet he had to try. Whatever his troubles, he still cared.

He stood up and walked up next to his fiancé. “Yuuri?”

Tentative.

“ _No_ , Wolf, there isn’t any point in trying. I’ve made up my mind.”

Irritation surfaced and some of his old short-temper returned.

“So you don’t care about how Sir Wagner feels, or any of my men? You don’t think they deserve some time to celebrate, time to remember those who fell?”

It wasn’t just what went on in the main banquet hall. The entire city would be having festivities – a decisive and swift victory for Shin Makoku – but this time with few casualties. The small village of farmers and millers who would otherwise have been butchered remained safe – unlike the prior war which had raged for years and rendered so much of the countryside bereft of a living soul. There had been so many villages destroyed or abandoned, not to mention the starvation and deprivation of the years following with nobody to tend or plant the crops.

So as devastating as the battle was outside Abney, it was still a clean victory, and mazoku and human alike would want to celebrate and give thanks to the Maou for their life. And if the king didn’t observe and recognise the victory, then it would be bad for morale and a diplomatic opportunity lost.

Wolfram touched Yuuri’s shoulder gently and said again, a small plea in a low voice, “Yuuri?”

“Fine, _okay_ …just don’t expect me to enjoy it.” And with that forced concession, Yuuri turned and left the room without even a backward glance, leaving the rest to pack up and Conrad scrambling after him. The meeting, it seemed, was at an end.

Wolfram looked out the window, his annoyance gone, and yet again feeling disconnected and depressed, like he didn’t belong here. How could it be when he couldn’t even remember the vision that according to his list it was like living months of his life? Did anything matter anymore?

Perhaps he should go after Yuuri... The thought came to him slowly, and he immediately felt shame for not thinking of his fiancé first and foremost. All through that meeting, his thoughts had only been on one person-

“Bielefeld.”

He jumped, startled as Murata came up behind him.

“You’ve been quiet. You want to have that talk.”

Wolfram shrugged. He didn’t know what he could say.

“I died. I’m handling it as well as anyone could.” Better than Yuuri dealing with the fallout from the battle. Murata gave him a sceptical look and he knew he wasn’t fooling him. Of course, after their conversation they had in the back of that wagon, Murata would have many questions.

Yet, this is what he had wanted, to talk to Murata.

He sat down and there was silence as he tried to gather his thoughts. Murata let him, patient in a way Wolfram knew he could never be. After opening his mouth a few times he spoke down at his hands quietly. “When I died, I had a vision.”

Murata said nothing and there was silence for another moment.

“It was of the future.” Wolfram said carefully, wary of revealing too much. “That’s how I knew about what happened…at the battle.”

“It’s not uncommon with mazoku of your talents, all things considered. When the veil between life and death is thin, many things are possible,” Murata said, sitting down next to him. “Though such knowledge is often a curse, the future is never set in stone. Nothing is ever definite.”

Shinou had said something similar. He wondered if someplace else, _somewhere_ else, it would still come to pass for another Wolfram. Definitely not here; that moment had passed for him. He turned his attention to Murata.

“A curse…maybe. I can’t remember most of it. Only flashes here and there, like a dream.”

Murata’s long black hair on white sheets. A touch of a hand on his forehead. Murata’s lips on the delicate shell of his ears in a bright room full of paintings. Pain as he died in Murata’s arms. Those were all that remained of his memories, the only things that hadn’t faded, other than his feelings and the scribbled words on the paper which was now hidden amongst his things. He didn’t need it anymore; he’d memorised every word, especially the last line. But it was the only tangible thing he had left.

“But I did remember everything when I woke up, and when I started to forget, I wrote things down. So I know some things. I feel they are true.”

“That’s what has you so troubled?” Murata asked. “You’ve been very quiet in this meeting, distracted. It’s very unlike you.”

Of course it was. He hadn’t felt himself since waking in that tent near Abney.

Wolfram nodded. “It wasn’t just a vision. It was something that Shinou sent me.” At the mention of the Great One’s name, Murata exhaled heavily, his eyes flashing quicksilver with an anger that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Wolfram paused for a moment, waiting for Murata to say something, but after a few moments of silence, Wolfram continued, “I lived it. I lived the vision as if it was real, for months, years even. Another life. I can’t remember it, but…my heart can.” He looked at Murata’s kind face and with a rush, confessed out loud what he’d been feeling for days. “I don’t love Yuuri _anymore_.”

“Ah.”

Wolfram could see that Murata was putting things together. He was sure he knew. The man was very clever, quick to work out puzzles and had years of knowledge to draw upon. Surely he wasn’t the first person to have had this happen to. There would have to be accounts somewhere. Maybe Shinou had meddled before, or some other creature from that realm that could play with fate and mortal minds. He knew from stories there were others, though Shinou was the mazoku’s primary guardian, once mortal who had risen to a higher plane.

“I’ve already decided to end the engagement. I don’t expect it will be easy.” It had been all he thought about while resting in bed, his body buried under blankets, staring out at the light outside. That and Murata.

“I won’t ask if you’re sure,” Murata said slowly, “You’ve never been one to ignore your heart.” He added wryly, “But…I’m asking, perhaps if you should consider marrying Shibuya nonetheless. Under the circumstances it would be…prudent. As a noble, you know most unions aren’t based on romantic love. And you still like him as a friend?” The last words came out as a question.

Wolfram closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“As a friend and a brother, yes, but don’t you think Yuuri would work it out? The Maou would notice it soon enough and Yuuri is never far behind.” Wolfram had no idea how things worked between the Maou and Yuuri. He had hoped once that he’d work it out, as the king’s husband. Now that was unlikely. “He needs love, he needs to _be_ loved. Especially now. Perhaps it’s wise for me to keep by his side, yes, but I can’t give him what he wants. How do you think he would feel when he realised this? He’s hopelessly sentimental. ” Wolfram snorted in half-disgust. _Just like I am_. And unlike Yuuri, he had no excuse; he hadn’t grown up with such unrealistic expectations.

Murata nodded slowly.

“Yes, you are right. But this, as you have said, is not going to be easy. My advice, if this is what you’ve decided, is to do it soon, but after the celebratory banquet. Break it to him gently and in private. He deserves that.”

“The vision-“

Murata put his hand up. “It’s better that I don’t know the details.”

Wolfram opened his mouth to protest.

“I’m sorry, Bielefeld, but I think…I can guess what it is, though I do not want to presume. If they are …I’m not saying…I’m not saying it’s impossible or that it’s not welcome.”

And to make things even less ambiguous, Murata pulled Wolfram’s hand into his and he looked down at them joined, and felt hope at such a small contact, so small but significant, shockingly intimate for the Great Sage, and considering who Wolfram was, who Wolfram was engaged to. Wolfram restrained himself from squeezing Murata’s hand.

“But not now. As the Great Sage, I cannot let such things complicate my relationship…my friendship with the king. The next few years is going to be challenging as it is.” And just as slowly Murata removed his hand and gave him a regretful smile. Wolfram wanted to weep. To be so close, and yet still so far.

Wolfram took a deep breath and took a moment to centre himself. “I’m going to leave after, back to my uncle’s estate, but in a few years I could return. That is, if things were more…welcoming?” He was afraid to hope, but he wanted so desperately he couldn’t help it. It was that hope which had kept him sane so far and that same hope which he’d pinned his future on. Anything else was too bleak to consider.

“I cannot promise anything.” Wolfram’s heart sank. “Ah Bielefeld,” Murata smiled sweetly, seeing the distress Wolfram couldn’t hide. “The world isn’t something I can control, circumstances change and there is always uncertainty. So I cannot promise. But if things work out and we are both alive and the opportunity exists, I hope to see you return. I would _fervently_ hope so if that is what you still wish.” Murata touched his hand again, so lightly and looked him in the eye. “I like you, _Wolfram_.” at the use of his first name, Wolfram’s heat quickened. “... though I never dared hope for more. I would like to get to know you better. Visions of the future aren’t certain, but how I feel right now, that won’t change in five years or even ten years. That is one certainty you can be assured of and all I can promise.”

Murata stood up abruptly, becoming politely distant, his expression and eyes blandly pleasant. So quick was the change that Wolfram wondered if he hadn’t just dreamt Murata’s words.

“I think I’ll go seek out Lord von Voltaire. He’ll need to know about some details of this banquet.”

Wolfram gave Murata one last hopeful smile and they left the room and parted ways.

~***~

The next morning he awoke with Yuuri curled against him, one arm over his chest. Even in sleep Yuuri looked exhausted, his brow slightly creased.

Wolfram petted his hair with sad fondness and Yuuri curled up further against his warmth.

Since they had returned, he’d been long gone before Wolfram had awoken, and now…well, once he would have loved this. Now it just broke his heart.

He thought about Murata’s advice, about staying by Yuuri’s side despite his feelings and for the first time, he seriously considered that option.

 _Maybe I could learn to love you again_ , he thought curling his hand around Yuuri’s waist. _Maybe._

Or maybe not.

“I do love you, Yuuri,” he said quietly and Yuuri did not stir. _“How could I not?”_ he thought. _You are beautiful, and kind, and a great king. And I’d proudly follow you anywhere._ Yuuri was the king and as a soldier and noble, Wolfram’s loyalty was absolute. However, his affection was the love of a friend or a brother, the love he had for Gwendal, or Greta. Wolfram would always see Yuuri as family.

It was so _unfair._

 _I can’t marry you and you’re going to hate me. I think this is the last time we’ll be this close._ Wolfram wiped away the tears that were falling down his face. He pulled the covers around them both snugly and put his arms around Yuuri and kept a vigil until the room became lighter and the day began.

~***~

It did not end well.

Wolfram knew it would not be easy. Just like he had admitted to Murata, he knew it would hurt Yuuri no matter how he raised the matter, but he didn’t think it would involve the Maou’s fury, or going up against his possessive nature. And he didn’t think he’d let his pride and quick temper get the better of him – not that he had any illusions about the latter, but he’d been determined to remain calm.

Which is why this had turned into quite an embarrassing, and potentially dangerous debacle as the Maou had followed him out into one of the main halls. Servants, courtiers and a handful of minor nobles watched. It was the day after the celebratory banquet so there were still a few around, more than usual at this time of the morning. There was not going to be any privacy in this matter.

“Wouldst thou renounce this betrothal, forsake all that you fought so hard for, reject our love?” the Maou boomed, glowing blue, his eyes bright with suppressed rage.

It was then that Conrad and Yozak ran into the hall, skidding to a stop on the polished marble floor when they worked out what the commotion was about. No one would intervene, _could_ intervene. There was no authority in the land that could stop the Maou…well apart from one and he wasn’t confident that Shinou would either. For all he knew, this was exactly what Shinou wanted with his manipulations.

Wolfram couldn’t stop his trembling, or the tears leaking from his eyes. He stood tall and looked the Maou in the eye.

“I would renounce it.” He was glad his voice did not crack.

The Maou’s blue glow became brilliant. “Bright one, most loved, I burned an army for you – _defied_ the laws of heaven to bring you back. Yet you would throw this away?” The windows in the hall shook and Wolfram couldn’t help flinching.

He said nothing. There was nothing he could say that he hadn’t already. Yuuri could not accept it, so he had left, running away before he’d say something horrible in anger. A bad mistake.

 _“I’m sorry, Yuuri. I cannot continue this, I don’t…love you.”_ He had said less than an hour earlier. Naturally Yuuri had been hurt, had demanded an explanation. Except there was nothing Wolfram could have said to explain it. Nothing that Yuuri could possibly understand in his agitation.

He had another burst of memory, the image of long black hair on white sheets, black hair that wasn’t Yuuri’s. He closed his eyes guiltily for an instant, afraid that the Maou could reach into his mind and see his treasonous thoughts.

He opened his eyes to face silent fury.

The Maou’s voice lowered, yet no less intent and deadly. “I wouldst command you to stay, I wouldst have you submit to me, for I am your King and you are _mine_!” The last words came out as a furious snarl.

For a second Wolfram was afraid that the Maou would grab him then and there, and force him down on his knees. Such was the dark aura emanating from him. He could imagine that should he submit, the Maou would relish the opportunity to claim him, publically – to demolish his defiance and humiliate him in a way that would slam shut any hopes that Wolfram had for the future.

The Maou had gotten darker ever since Abney, and so had Yuuri. He should have realised this. If the Maou took him, Yuuri wouldn’t forgive himself…and Wolfram didn’t think he could either.

There was only one thing he could think of to avert such a disaster.

“Yes. If you would command me, I will submit and be yours. You are the Maou, you are the Demon King, and as a mazoku, noble and soldier, I will obey you in everything. I would allow you to claim me; I would marry you if you command. But, Yuuri…I _can’t_ love you.” Wolfram voice cracked, and he faltered for a moment and lowered his voice so only Yuuri could hear. “I can’t love you the way you would want, the way you deserve to be loved.”

The Maou growled, half anger, frustration and grief. And Wolfram closed his eyes, expected his claws on him any second, for him to be pushed down, his clothes ripped and he would have to bear it.

But nothing happened, and there was not a word from everyone else in the hall, frozen still by the scene unfolding before them. Wolfram opened his eyes and looked at the Maou, whose glow had subsided and he looked lost.

“Perhaps this is my punishment,” the Maou said after a moment. “I should not have let you down into that battle, for that is the moment I lost you.”

Wolfram swallowed.

The Maou came closer, but no longer threatening, and looked him in the eye. “Yes. I lost you when you died.” A strange look came into his eyes. “There are so many futures that it is hard for me to live in this mortal sphere and see them as clearly as I once did. So many, so _many_ you are with me, nearly all, and only two where you are not, one where you die and one where…” The Maou stopped suddenly and gave him a hopeless smile, a look of heartrending acceptance on his features. Wolfram did not expect empathy. He was torn between crying and asking the Maou what he saw, though he knew he could do neither.

For some strange reason, he felt the Maou understood…perhaps more than Wolfram did.

He wished this had not happened here in this hall. He wished Murata was with him, even sensing that having him here now would have been a disaster.

With a sigh, the Maou said loudly, “I relinquish my claim.” And Wolfram could swear that he could feel a pull on his soul, like something was being ripped from him, not painful, but uncomfortable all the same. He could not hold in the sob that escaped him. There was loss, a cold emptiness, not of what _was_ , but what could _have been._

After a while, he came back to his senses, acutely aware of eyes watching him, judging, reproving. Wolfram was thoroughly sick of living his life as a stage play for others, but he knew when he had performed abysmally and was old enough to know the consequences.

He had rejected the king. And for that, he had to be strong. He had plans to leave before, but now this would make it certain, he could not stay at the castle and continue to embarrass Yuuri. He’d hurt him enough.

At once the Maou left, leaving behind Yuuri, bowed over in grief. Wolfram went to reach for him, but he stopped himself. He was to blame for this; it was not for him to comfort. Conrad was there to hold him, giving Wolfram a hard look of disapproval. Wolfram faltered. Conrad would not understand; he didn’t expect him to, but it hurt still.

More than ever, he felt the desperate, almost physical need to have Murata with him. He couldn’t remember why anymore other than those flashes and the words he had written, but his feelings could not be denied.

Keeping his head high, he turned and left Yuuri behind in Conrad arms weeping, and went to find a place where he could grieve alone.

~***~

“Well, you certainly made an impression, kiddo. Nobody is going to forget that for a long time,” Yozak pointed out to him dryly, having found him in one of the smaller balconies barely two hours later.

Wolfram was glad that Yozak hadn’t commented on his red blotchy face. His complexion had never let him get away with hiding it when he cried.

“Is…Conrad. Is he fine?” And Yuuri, but he had no right to ask.

“He’s angry and disappointed and worried about you…and worried about the king. And I can’t say I blame him. The kid is a little delicate at the moment and your timing – to quote the young king during better days – ‘sucks’. Was this something you needed to do now?” A hint of anger had seeped through Yozak’s usual ironic drawl.

Wolfram closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yes, if I didn’t do it now…it _had_ to be done. It would have been worse for him if we’d married. I don’t love him.”

Short derisive laughter erupted from the spy and Wolfram fought the urge to hit him.

“Yes, and half of Shin Makoku heard that, or will by the end of the week.” Yozak rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Your eldest brother wanted me to run interference, but with so many witnesses, it wasn’t possible. I haven’t enough resources to blackmail and bribe them all. Short of having them all done away with.” Yozak laughed again, this time grimly. Three Maous back, that would have been a practical solution, but under Yuuri’s reign, it would never happen. Yuuri had killed soldiers against his nature; he wouldn’t have innocent bystanders killed to protect his pride and nor would Gwendal allow it.

“I’ll write and sign the petition of annulment. Would you deliver it?” In some ways it was redundant, considering the Maou had relinquished his claim and Murata had given his endorsement beforehand, in a way, but it was protocol.

Yozak nodded. “He won’t be surprised. I sent a messenger bird to him informing him of...events.” Of course, it was easy to forget sometimes. Yozak formally worked under Gwendal, yet his loyalty was to the Sage. They were good friends, and Murata had taken a keen interest in espionage, a traditional responsibility for the king’s counterpart. “He’s had me keep an eye on you, my Lord. I was wondering why, considering it was the king who incinerated hundreds of men, but I’m starting to see that the battle near Abney had changed someone other than him.” Yozak gave him a sympathetic look.

Wolfram ignored Yozak’s concern. They had never been friends. He respected the spy for his skills and because he was Conrad’s partner and Murata’s confidant and friend, but Yozak’s insolent personality had always grated on him, and he would not accept any pity from him. The man had never known his place.

Wolfram would inform Greta, and then there would be the formal dissolution to prepare for. There was little hope he’d get out of that. To save face, Yuuri had to let him go in a more formal setting, probably the ball later this week. A public kiss to say goodbye.

And, he thought to himself, I’ll need to talk to Elizabeth. Yuuri will need a friend, and if his notes were to be believed and his gut told him it was so, she was going to become very important to the king.

“I’ll leave the castle as soon as the king annuls it publically.” He told Yozak.

Yozak frowned.

“I can see why, kid…but I’d advise against it. The castle is big enough for you both to live here, particularly if you spend a lot of time out in the field.”

“No,” Wolfram said emphatically. “Yuuri will need me away, for him to…move on. He can’t do that if he keeps on running into me in the halls. I’ll take my remaining men and go back to Bielefeld.” More importantly, for the king’s reputation, it would remove Wolfram from temptation. Murata had an iron will. Wolfram did not, and the next year or so would have him feeling very vulnerable. He’d need to bury himself in work.

“The Captain will miss you. So will Lord von Voltaire.”

“I won’t stay there forever – just for a few years. I’ll visit a few times and eventually I’ll return.” He had someone to return to, if the fates were kind, but he wasn’t going to tell Yozak that.

Yozak hummed agreement and put his hands behind his head, leaning against the balustrade casually as he regarded Wolfram. “Maybe you’re right – at least until the next scandal.” He then stretched his arms, turned and looked out towards the temple. “Maybe I’ll try to generate something in a few years; there are a few secrets some of the aristocratic lords have which would embarrass them. I’ve been keeping them for a political stormy weather. Yet I think it would be worth using those tasty tidbits for your brothers…and for _His_ Eminence.” Yozak turned and gave him a knowing look. He didn’t know how or why but he was sure Yozak guessed his feelings. “When you return, let me know and I’ll get things started.”

Wolfram nodded, his gaze towards the temple. He’d be away for a long time. Who knew if what he wanted was possible? He had to keep his hopes in check and focus on getting through each day as it came.  


~***~

That night, he dreamt.

They were in the ballroom and everyone was watching but Wolfram didn’t mind. He was in Yuuri’s arms and felt so happy. Yuuri was clumsy, not following the steps of the music. He was either ahead or late, but he swept Wolfram along with it and they worked together perfectly. Yuuri’s eyes were on him, smiling, and he felt safe and loved. But then the music got faster and faster and Yuuri spun him around more rapidly, still clumsy but Wolfram wasn’t able to keep in step with him anymore. The rhythm was broken.

“Slow down, Yuuri!” he cried over the music, which had become raucous, but Yuuri didn’t hear him and he was swept off his feet. He felt sick and then Yuuri stumbled and Wolfram fell. His last image was of Yuuri’s panicked face as he reached down for him in vain.

He was flat down on the ground, a burning pain in his chest yet still in the ballroom, though the ground was dirty and covered with blood instead of marble. He crawled to his feet but wasn’t able to get up, his strength failing him. The ballroom was packed by people and all were disregarding him, a sea of legs.

Just when he was about to despair, a hand pulled him up and he was swept into the arms of the great sage, whose smile was sweet and whose eyes gleamed with amusement.

Mature and handsome, he caressed Murata’s braid in fascination as he was held tightly against the Sage, safe. The music slowed down and became sensuous. Murata pulled him in closer; there was little space between them. Wolfram could feel the sages’s warm breath on his neck, and it was easy to follow his lead. Too easy.

He closed his eyes to savour the sensations through his body as Murata’s hand slid down his backside. When he opened it, Murata was above him, inside him, and they were in a soft bed, unclothed. The music was still playing and the rhythm continued as he arched his back up to feel more.

Murata rolled them around and Wolfram was on top, looking down the sage’s long dark hair spread out over the white sheet and his heart filled to bursting as Murata cupped his face and surged up, filling him with exquisite ecstasy.

 _I love you._

His eyes opened, and he was alone in his bed, with a sticky mess in his pants and he wept.

~***~

It wasn’t a big reception.

Clearly Günter had arranged it so that it was an event where the minimum amount of people was required to witness the formal dissolution of his betrothal to the king. Wolfram was grateful for that, and of course, the Great Sage was in attendance. His presence would have been noted by the more astute courtiers present. The occasion itself didn’t merit his being there, even if the Sage was in the habit of even attending many of the more important events.

So there was an air of expectation, and along with the gossip from the public display of rejecting the Maou, Wolfram was sure that more than a few had guessed what would take place.

The other clue was that there was a sizeable space around where he stood, with only Elizabeth as company. He was never that popular but he had at least some courtiers wanting to exchange small talk with him, or pestering him for some favour or the ear of the king. Looks like he was considered toxic now. That suited Wolfram well enough.

His men had been briefed and would leave tomorrow morning. He hoped much of Yuuri’s pain would leave with him.

Murata, Günter and Gwendal were talking quietly up near the royal dais, and Wolfram downed another glass of white wine. Drinking enough to make things easier for what he had to face, but not too much that he wasn’t in control. He’d been drinking at formal events since his twenties and knew his limits well.

“I see that some of the major lords got an invitation,” Elizabeth noted with distaste, looking over at Lord von Radford.

Wolfram shrugged. “Of course. I’m sure you have worked out why they are here.”

Elizabeth gave him a sad look. “Oh, Wolf. When you said you were going to sever your betrothal with the king earlier, I didn’t think you were truly serious. I cannot believe it has come to this.”

He shrugged; he was tired of not being able to explain, but there was nothing that could be done.

“It is what it is. Just as long as you fulfil your promise, I will be well enough. It’s him I’m worried about. The vultures will be on to him as soon as I leave and he’s gone through so much, already.”

Elizabeth was one of the few women at court that Yuuri knew – one he saw as a friend and whose company he’d be grateful for. Of course, it would create its own gossip, but Elizabeth was far better than he at navigating court intrigue, and she had a thick skin.

 _Besides, it would be better in the end._ ‘Yuuri marries Elizabeth and both of them were happy together.’ was written on his paper.

“You know what people will say,” Elizabeth said softly.

Wolfram gave her an apologetic look. “Would that upset you?”

“No.” Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. “He’s a sweet boy and my family will be ecstatic. Can you imagine? A possible romantic association with the Maou. My father will be over the moon. And I know enough to make sure we keep chaperones around. But you, how will you feel?” She looked at him intently.

“It’s not my concern.”

Elizabeth studied him for a moment. “I guess it is true. I wasn’t sure. You don’t love him.”

“I do,” he disagreed. “But only as a friend. I’m sure you’ll come to love him too.” He said it in a way that implied friendship, but he meant it differently.

He looked up at the dais. Yuuri was definitely late, and Murata had disappeared. Only Günter and Gwendal were there, and Gwendal lips were pursed unhappily.

He swigged another mouthful of wine. What if Yuuri refused to end it? The Maou had, but…Yuuri might not have agreed. What then? There was nothing he could do himself in that situation. He’d have to petition for the Great Sage’s direct involvement, and considering all that had happened, he couldn’t bear to make it any more of a public disaster than it already was.

Just as his mind started to roll through that horrible scenario, the guards made their announcement and Yuuri entered, wearing his crown and robe, and shadowed by Conrad.

When Yuuri spotted him, he walked over to him directly, without the usual fanfare or proclamation and halted in front of him. The room fell silent.

Yuuri’s face was pinched, unhappy. He didn’t say anything but pulled Wolfram in roughly and took him in a brutal kiss. His glass fell onto the carpet with a dull thud (thankfully not breaking which would have been the end of Wolfram. A broken wine glass would be a declaration of hostilities against the king.) Wolfram let him as Yuuri’s tongue pushed into his mouth, one arm around his waist, and the other in his hair. He didn’t resist, nor did he reciprocate, and just as suddenly, Yuuri ended the kiss. Wolfram tried to pull away, reeling, but Yuuri wasn’t finished, his arm still around him, keeping him in place. Yuuri leaned in closely and said with bitter unhappiness – “I _had_ to make it count, Wolf.” – before letting him go and walking up to the dais without looking back. Conrad gave Wolfram a brief sad look before following him.

Wolfram touched his lips, somewhat dazed. There had been the taste of alcohol from Yuuri, a hard spirit, nothing like his wine. He had never known Yuuri to drink anything _but_ wine and only at public functions.

Wolfram barely registered the whispers from the others there, or the clear announcement from Günter that the betrothal had dissolved.

Ignoring Elizabeth sympathetic look, he turned and headed towards the exit, head held high. He didn’t need to remain for the rest of the reception; all those responsibilities were void, gone along with his engagement to the king. As he walked out, he saw Murata next to the door and for a moment their eyes locked. Murata’s face didn’t change, but his eyes were of sadness and empathy and underlying affection.

Wolfram wanted nothing more than to go to him and be held.

Instead, he nodded acknowledgment and swept by without pause.

He went back to his room to pack. No one followed him.

~***~

Wolfram had packed the last of his supplies when he heard a knock on the door.

He walked over and opened it, his mouth opening to berate anyone for bothering him at this hour, but his words dying when he saw who was at his door.

He didn’t expect Yuuri. He let him in, and Yuuri walked in slowly giving him a broken half-smile and then blanching slightly and clutching his head. Thinking of the hard liquor he had tasted on Yuuri’s tongue, Wolfram wasn’t surprised.

Then realisation struck. Yuuri was in his bedchambers in the middle of the night. Even with a companion such as Conrad, it would look bad, and Yuuri was alone.

Did anyone know he was here? After breaking up with Wolfram so publically, it would cause further scandal. And yes, Wolfram would be lying if he didn’t think about how that would impact on his reputation, and on things…on things he hoped for in the future.

But he could not turn Yuuri away. But that was the point wasn’t it? He had refused Yuuri, in the most fundamental way.

“I went through the…” Yuuri made a whirling gesture. “The wavy hallway and I think Conrad is following me.” Wolfram sighed in relief. The back entrance, so with luck no one saw him enter Wolfram’s room. He was positive that Conrad was standing outside, or close by.

“Yuuri?”

“I just wanted to talk to you. I know you’re leaving tomorrow so this is the last chance.”

Yuuri plopped down heavily on the sofa and Wolfram sat down next to him.

“You should rest, Yuuri, you’ve had a stressful day.” And that was also his fault.

Yuuri gave him a wobbly smile. “I drunk way too much, but Anissina had me use one of her inventions, ‘Mr Instant Sobriety’, but it doesn’t leave out the hangover. That’s what I’m suffering now.” Yuuri paused and covered his eyes for a moment. “Except I deserve it for how I treated you at the reception. I was hurting, Wolf. That’s my only excuse and it’s not a good one. I’m very sorry.”

“Yuuri I underst-“

“The Maou has accepted it,” Yuuri said interrupting anything Wolfram was to say. “But I…I find it hard still. It hurts…and he won’t explain why, not in a way that I can understand. Or maybe I’m not trying enough to understand. I know you don’t love me.” Yuuri croaked those last words out. “I want to know why.”

“Yuuri….” Wolfram didn’t know what to say. Nothing would make it better.

“No, I see that look on your face, the one where you’ll just talk around things. I deserve the _truth_ , Wolf.”

Could he tell Yuuri the truth? Would that be fair? Considering all the pain that Yuuri had gone through, to put this on him as well…and how would he react about his feelings for Murata?

He was sure it would only hurt Yuuri further.

“Can I tell you later, in a few years?” _Please._

“Was it something I did, Wolf? Was it because I killed all those men? The Maou said I would have to pay a price. I thought he meant...the guilt. Not this.”

“No… _no._ It wasn’t that. I don’t care; they were the enemy. It wasn’t anything you did.” At least not on purpose or anything that Wolfram could remember, and if there was, it didn’t matter because this Yuuri wasn’t at fault. It was funny that he could recognise that, and yet he couldn’t love Yuuri as he had. It made so little sense.

“But you _don’t_ love me, and I know you loved me before the battle. You did? Didn’t you? It wasn’t a lie,” Yuuri pleaded.

“It wasn’t a lie. I loved you.” His voice came out flat but sincere.

Yuuri leaned against the back of the couch and gazed at him miserably.

“That’s what I _don’t_ understand, Wolf, how can you stop loving me so quickly? Practically in one day?”

“There is a reason…, I can’t explain it now, Yuuri. It wasn’t just ‘one day’ for me.”

Yuuri looked at him with scepticism, but then sighed. “But you will explain one day?”

He looked at Yuuri, eyes pleading. “I _swear_ to you.”

Yuuri crawled over until he was next to him, and put his arms around him.

“I miss you in my bed. Conrad told me why it was better…but I miss you.” Wolfram nodded, he knew exactly how Yuuri felt and he felt awful that he was the source of Yuuri’s pain, to someone who he still, even now, considered his closest friend.

He hadn’t been a very good friend, hurting Yuuri when he needed him the most.

“I’m _sorry_. I’m sorry to do this to you. I’m sorry to leave Greta. I just...” He trailed off again sadly; he didn’t want to hurt Yuuri again, reminding him again of why. _I just can’t be in love you._

Yuuri leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, a kind of forgiveness that Wolfram did not earn or deserve. A strong sense of déjà-vu welled up and he shivered. This had happened before, he was sure of it. Leaning his forehead against Wolfram’s, Yuuri said in a sad whisper, “I’m going to miss you so much. I still love you. The Maou still loves you.” Yuuri swallowed and Wolfram pulled Yuuri into his arms and the young king leaned his head on his shoulder. So young. After a few beats, he spoke again into Wolfram’s ear, voice sure if a little tremulous. “But if he is strong enough to let you go, I can be too. What’s important is that you’re alive and well. When I found you on the field, I knew I couldn’t carry on without you. I had to save you, Wolf. So I can bear letting you go, as long as you are alive, for Greta’ sake, and for me. And... _and_ , I hope, we’ll be friends?”

If it was a choice, Wolfram would have gladly have chosen to love Yuuri in that moment.

But it had never been a choice. It just was.

“You are a _great_ king, and you have so many people who love and support you. Listen to them but try to stay true to what is right. I know you can...and…I’ll always be your friend, Yuuri,” Wolfram whispered.

They clung to each other miserably for a while. Wolfram didn’t know about Yuuri, but he had no more words to say, nothing that wouldn’t cause more sadness.

It was how Conrad found them much later, letting himself in without notice. Under any other circumstances Wolfram would have been annoyed at such rudeness.

Conrad gave Wolfram a bleak look, rightly so. “You should go,” he said gently to Yuuri. Yuuri pulled away and nodded, getting up. The last image he had of Yuuri was one long heartbreaking look before Conrad practically pushed him from the room.

Wolfram was not to know then – and perhaps considering how unhappy and guilty he felt at the time, it was a small mercy – but he wouldn’t talk to Yuuri again for years. Not really. And it would be even longer than that before people would see them as friends.

But that was the future, the one that Wolfram was truly destined to trod. For now, he sat there on the sofa all alone and made plans for his departure.

~***~

In the pre-dawn hours the sky was light, promising a clear hot day. His men were going over their equipment. Out of the original forty of his squad, only eighteen remained. A few had minor injuries but were well enough to take the nine day journey to the Bielefeld Estate. Four of his men were still under Gisela’s care. Wolfram’s uncle would send men to escort them back when they were better.

Whilst Wagner cross-checked the supplies, he walked over to the farewell party. There were friends of those men in his squad, mostly other soldiers, and some sweethearts who were to be left behind. There was his family and an old friend.

Gwendal, Greta, his mother, and Elizabeth. Of course Yuuri wasn’t anywhere in sight and he didn’t expect Conrad’s presence.

Greta hugged him tightly. “I’ll come for your ball, and we’ll spend summer in Voltaire afterwards,” he promised her.

She nodded and there were tears in her eyes.

“I wish you could stay,” she whispered into his ears. He gave Greta a kiss on her brow, she was getting so tall. “Take care of your father, dearest. Write to me.” Greta rubbed her eyes and nodded.

Gwendal looked sombre. “Send regards to your uncle.”

“I will, brother. I hope to be back soon. I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”

Gwendal nodded and said gruffly, “Matters have ended tolerably.” Gwendal straightened his green jacket stiffly and added curtly, “Be careful on the road.”

Wolfram turned to Elizabeth and gave her a hug. “You better write and tell me what is happening. Try to make sure he has some _fun_.” He didn’t want Conrad or Murata to be the only ones responsible for Yuuri’s emotional state. The more trusted friends he had around him, the better.

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes shining.

Then he was enveloped in a fierce hug by his mother. “Oh Wolfy…my baby.”

“Mother.” His voice was muffled as he was pushed up against his mother’s bosom.

“Don’t worry, _Wolfy,_ there will be so many men who’ll fall for you, even in that backward province.” His mother’s voice lowered, but still loud enough for those close by to hear. “I think Sir Wagner has a crush on you and he is a fine young man, very handsome.”

In the background, he heard someone drop something that clanked, and he heard a yelp. He refused to speculate who that was.

“Mother,” he protested, but he only felt mildly annoyed. He knew that this was his mother’s way of making him feel better.

“I know...Wolfy, but you’re still so young and you can be so serious, now more than ever. Not all love is forever, but it doesn’t mean that it is any less.”

He pulled back and his mother gave him an understanding smile.

Wagner came up beside him, his face a little red. “Sir, the men are ready.”

Wolfram took one long look at the castle and then nodded to himself. “Time to go.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Elizabeth added hastily. “Yozak gave this to me last night; he asked that you deliver it to the Great Sage, in person.” She handed him an envelope.

“Oh…of course.” Yozak was definitely too insolent.

They were taking the road past the temple so it wouldn’t take much time to deliver it.

He didn’t think he’d see Murata before he left. He looked up over in the direction of the temple, the top could barely be seen over the castle walls on the slope above them.

It wouldn’t take long to deliver it.

~***~

Wolfram could never remember ever being in the Great Sage’s private apartments before, but it felt familiar. It felt like comfort, like safety…it felt like home. If he wasn’t sure about his decision, based on some scratchy lead marking on a piece of paper or how he’d felt every time he laid eyes on the Sage, he was absolutely sure now.

He knew this place – it was home.

The Great Sage, Murata, looked suspiciously unsurprised to see him. He dropped Yozak’s envelope that he had given to Murata on a cluttered desk without even a glance.

“So you’re going off to Bielefeld.”

Wolfram shrugged, sitting down on a couch as Murata gestured him too.

“Yes, as I planned earlier. It is much easier this way. But I’ll try to visit at least once a year and… in five years or so, I’ll return. I’ll be back in six months for Greta’s ball and then she’ll spend the summer with me at Voltaire. Hopefully Gwendal can visit.”

Murata nodded. “That sounds like a wise plan. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that things turned out this way.”

Wolfram shrugged. “It was my choice. I knew the consequences.”

Murata look unconvinced.

“I can see the toll in your eyes. The battle and now _this_. It’s forced you grow up too fast and it’s been unfair for you and those around you. I’ve watched how hard this has been for you. You didn’t choose this.” Murata’s eyes flashed dark in fury.

Wolfram shook his head. Though he was glad for Murata’s feelings, it was useless. He had to move on. He had to distance himself from the king, if only for a while.

“I thought about that, I was angry at first, furious, but being angry at a god is like being angry at a storm for its destruction. It’s useless.”

It was easiest to think that way. There were things out of his control. He sat back into the couch and gave Murata a resigned smile.

“This storm won’t hurt you again.” Murata’s voice was hard and clipped and he could believe it.

“Thank you,” he said. He was filled with relief, despite what he had said, just because he had chosen to move on with his life didn’t mean he wasn’t fearful of the same thing happening again.

Neither of them mentioned Yuuri, but it was a ghost that neither of them could ignore.

After a few moments, Murata said with a tentative smile, “I hope you will write. I would value your correspondence.”

“I will write you, though I can’t say it will be interesting. Border patrol and training rarely is.”

Murata’s smile widened.

“I’m sure you can think of other things to write me about.” Murata’s voice was playful, and looking relaxed as he was, unguarded, he was strikingly attractive.

“I’m sure I will,” Wolfram responded, lowering his eyes. “I should go now; the men are waiting.”

He stood up with Murata and they walked over to the door.

A vivid mental image came to him of a studio full of paintings and a kiss on his earlobe.

“Do you paint?” he asked abruptly.

Murata pushed his glasses up and gave him a curious look. “I do…as a hobby. I know you like to paint, Shibuya showed me the one you did…with the lemon. It was interesting, I like the way you paint. Maybe someday I can show you my studio.”

He would like that. Wolfram closed his eyes and breathed in. Everything felt so familiar, even the smell. And when he opened them, seeing Murata so close, he made a decision.

Wolfram leaned in and kissed Murata on the lips, not pushing. At first there was no reaction and he panicked. Even with all the playful talk, he was conceited to expect anything and he’d practically thrown himself on the Great Sage without warning. He pulled away hastily only to have Murata put one arm around his waist and another at his nape to keep him in place, and then they were truly kissing, open mouthed with Murata’s tongue in his and their bodies pressed up against each other. Relaxing into the kiss and the sensations of touch, he curled his arms around Murata’s shoulders and let himself enjoy it. He didn’t know how long that went on, time lost meaning. All that mattered was they were together.

But eventually, Murata pulled away reluctantly. Breathing heavily he placed his hands flat on Wolfram’s chest, as if to keep him at a distance. “I shouldn’t keep you waiting.” Murata’s face was flushed, there was as wildness in his eyes that was so different from his usual restrained manner. He looked so young and touchable.

Putting his hand around one wrist, Wolfram brought it up to his lips for a brief kiss and then let it go.

“I’m happy to wait...for this.” And then Wolfram finished in a rush, hope buoyed by the kiss, “I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait forever.”

Murata exhaled and leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek and said quietly “Not forever, I hope.”

He pulled out the crumpled paper from his jacket and held it between them, his hand trembling a little.

“This is what I wrote down of that vision. If you want I can tell you...”

Murata shook his head.

“You’re right,” Wolfram agreed. “What’s important is the life we lead now.” Unfolding the paper, he looked at the words one last time and then set it alight in his hand. Keeping careful direction and control of the flame, he extinguished it so all that remained was the bottom of the page, one side hardly singed at all. “This, though, is what I hope.”

He offered it to Murata who took it with care.

“You don’t have to read it.”

Murata folded it carefully and placed it within his jacket, the mirror of where Wolfram had it on his person.

“This feeling...you make me want to do something dangerously irresponsible and against all that common sense tells me. I’m not that wise…. If only...” Murata shook his head in mild exasperation and then patted where he had placed Wolfram list, and then closed his eyes and leaned forward in a bow, a little apologetically like he’d seen Yuuri do. “I shouldn’t be raising your hopes. Anything can happen, but I’ll keep it for if you return, and you can read it to me then.” Murata’s accent had become more evident as he said this, but still cultured in high mazoku. An odd blend. Wolfram wanted to know why, what was he feeling? Wolfram wanted to know everything he could about Murata.

“Don’t worry. I’ll hope enough for both of us.” Again taking Murata’s hand, he brushed his lips along the knuckles in the measured deliberate manner of courting and Murata quirked one amused eyebrow, but didn’t make an objection.

“Farewell, Murata Ken. I long for the day where I can get to _know_ you.”

He would pin his heart on that wish and be damned if he was disappointed.

Murata face broke out in a devastatingly sweet and poignant smile, with just a shade of sorrow.

“Farewell, dearest Wolfram. So do I.”  


~***~

  
End 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene in this chapter was inspired by toshimalfoy from her lovely story 'Whispers from the Rye'


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